The Tri-Champion Wizard
by Zetasigma
Summary: Time travel fic, hopefully in the Dramedy style. The Horcruxes have unintended and wide-ranging side effects, causing powerful friends to conscript Harry as their Champion and send him back to Fourth Year to help them return the natural order. Now he has to help fix the world (again), survive the TWT (again), stop Voldemort (again), and do his best to get the girl.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This one has been in my brain for a while and won't leave me alone. Since I can't guarantee how often I'll update my other stories, I can't commit to an update schedule on this one either.

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1\. All recognizable material from the Harry Potter universe, and any other published work, is the intellectual property of the appropriate parties, none of whom are me. Original ideas, such as non-canon names and events, are my own.

2\. This story is rated M. Mostly for language and suggestive dialogue, but I can't guarantee there won't be depictions of violence or adult situations. You have been warned.

3\. This story will progress toward a Harry/Hermione relationship. If that isn't your cup of tea, I hope you read and enjoy anyway, but if not I understand.

4\. I'm going for a style here similar to _Firefly_ or _Farscape._ Good chunks of humor and light-heartedness interspersed with the serious and gritty. I'm not sure if I'll succeed, but I'm going to try.

A/N: 4/16/19 - Corrected the day of the week November 1st was. See A/N of Ch 2 for explanation.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – The 'Crux of the Problem**

"What the bloody blue fuck is that?!" exclaimed the tall, muscular being as he stared in abject horror.

The figure who had escorted him into the room rolled her deep blue eyes at her companion before responding. "That, _my lord_ ," she said, knowing that her sarcasm would go completely over his head, "is a knot."

"That's not a knot," the man replied, raising his arm and shaking his hand at the object of his incredulity. "That's so much more than a knot. That's a . . . a tangle . . . a snarl . . . a rat's nest . . . a complete and utter clusterfuck. How the hell did this happen?"

A third figure, dressed in a long red one-shoulder dress and wearing a very severe expression, joined them in their conversation. "That happened, cousin, because of you," she said, unable to hide the venom in her voice.

"Me?" he stated innocently. "How could I have caused that?"

"I'm going to guess you don't remember that little acolyte you were sweet on in Ephyra?" the woman responded, the steel still completely discernible in her tone.

The man, for his part, scrunched his face in concentration as he tried to remember. There had been so many, over such a long time. Finally he gave it up as a bad bet. "Nope, can't say that I do. But what's it got to do with anything?"

"I can't believe you, Zeke!" she screamed. "You don't remember the little trollop at the Nekromanteion who you gave knowledge of quasi-immortality and the Death Arts to?! Does the word 'Horcrux' ring any bells?!"

"Wait," he answered, turning back toward the woven masterpiece – well, except for the knot – that hung on the wall of the room. "You mean to tell me that this thing is because of a Horcrux?"

"Not just one," the first woman responded. "Though she never used the knowledge herself, the information you provided to your . . . conquest . . . was recorded in the temple archives, eventually passed down over the years until it came into the possession of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom is terrified of dying, and so when he found the information buried in an ancient text he saw it as a way to live forever. But he took it too far. He didn't just make one; he made seven."

"Seven!" the man – Zeke – exclaimed. "That work was never meant to make seven. The consequences –"

"Are staring us right in the face," the second woman hissed.

"Yes, Attie, I get it. Bad me. But what's the big deal? Just snip them. Isn't that what you do?"

"Oh, dear me, whatever would we do without your great and all-knowing wisdom?" she snarked. "Why didn't us simple womenfolk think of that? Oh, wait; _we did_. Guess what else splitting your soul more than once happens to do?" Attie stormed over to the tapestry, shears in hand, and attempted to snip one of the threads belonging to a Horcrux. To Z's horror, her shears passed right through it. "Because of how many times Riddle split his soul, there's not enough substance to any one of the threads for my shears to take hold. The result of which is that it would appear that we can't cut _any_ of them, and we can't cut his until all of the Horcruxes are gone."

Zeke approached closer to the massive hanging and inspected the imperfect section closer. "It looks like almost all of the lines are broken, most of them at the edge of the knot," he stated. "So, yes, it's a bit messy, but the weave should even itself back out, right?" He turned to the first woman, not wanting to engage an angry Attie in further conversation. "Right, Chloe?"

"It's not that simple," Chloe responded. "Yes, it would appear that the threads of 6 of the 8 soul shards have been severed by something happening in the mortal world, but look at the damage. Look how many other threads have been pulled into the knot, away from their allotted place in the Weave. Threads that were supposed to braid together are instead forever separated, or entwined with threads I never meant for them to wend with. Some threads have even been snapped without Attie's shears, and much shorter than Lacey meant them to be. Yes, we could possibly move some threads around on the far side of the knot, but this," she tapped the tangle, "would always be here, and all of the Weave in this section that comes after it would forever be altered, in some ways irrevocably."

"So what do you suggest, Chloe?" Zeke asked. Technically it was Chloe, Lacey, and Attie's job to maintain the tapestry, but as 'the head honcho' – as he sometimes referred to himself – any backlash ultimately fell on him. Zeke didn't like backlash. He didn't like any kind of lash; BDSM just wasn't in his (admittedly long) list of kinks.

"We undo the knot, or at least the worst parts of it," Attie responded for her. "Unweaving all of this nonsense entirely, trying to eliminate the Horcruxes from reality, would unravel the tapestry more than is safe, but if we pull the threads back to a certain point, say around here," she indicated a spot after Riddle's thread had separated but before the knot became unseemly, "we shouldn't cause catastrophic damage to the weaving but can still hopefully avert the worst of the damage. But here's where it gets tricky. We need someone, a mortal, to destroy the Horcruxes, or destroy them again as the case may be, and do in Riddle as well, hopefully sooner than was done previously to avoid this, as you so elegantly put it, clusterfuck."

"You're talking about a Champion," Zeke said. "I didn't think there were any Champions left."

"There's one, newly minted," Chloe said, tugging slightly on one particular thread that seemed almost comically tangled within the briar patch formed by the Horcruxes. "Amusingly enough, for most of this thread's journey it's been entwined with one of the Horcrux threads; one that was snapped just a short time ago. I could merge this thread back upon itself as the Weave is undone, allowing our Champion to maintain the knowledge of what might happen so that they can hopefully accomplish their task more easily."

"Your Champion? After all this time, have the three of you finally taken a Champion?"

"Well, we're sort of hoping to . . . share the mortal with who their actual Benefactor is," Chloe said cautiously. "But in order to make that happen we're going to need your help."

"Oooooo . . . .kayyyy . . . ," Zeke responded just as carefully. "And whose Champion is it actually?"

"You're not gonna like it," Attie said in a sing-song voice, taking vindictive pleasure in Zeke's approaching torment.

"Who?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you're sure?"

"Just tell me already!"

"He's Thandie's Champion," Attie finally said with vindictive glee.

"Fuck me," Zeke said, his chin hitting his chest as his hands came up to cover his eyes.

"Definitely, and more than likely repeatedly," Chloe said with a smirk, also taking some pleasure in Zeke's pain. "If even half of the stories I've heard are true, she can be a wild one."

"She's crazy!" Zeke shouted. "Sure, she's smokin' hot, but she's batshit loco. Completely checked-out whackadoodle bananas. You never know if you're getting the ditz or the devil."

"Yep," Attie said. "And because of The Rules we can't talk to her directly until you go on our behalf and receive her permission. So you're going to have to go and get it. And get it. And get it. And probably get it some more." She managed to contain her glee seeing the wide-eyed expression of terror on Zeke's face. "Hop to it, tiger."

The last thing Zeke heard as he stormed out of the room was Chloe's muffled sniggers, which were almost drowned out by Attie's maniacal cackle. Some days it just didn't pay to be the man in charge.

{-}

 _He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be. (from_ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _, by J.K. Rowling, 2007_ )

The dreaded green had finally cleared from the corners of his vision as Harry Potter started to come fully back to himself. The last few hours ran through his mind as he desperately tried to get a handle on what had recently happened to him. The battle. Snape's memories. Learning the dreaded truth that he had to die in order for Voldemort to be mortal once more. His desperate wish to talk to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny one last time, and his either brave or cowardly (he wasn't sure which) decision to forego their goodbyes. His walk to the Forbidden Forest, to his death, which simultaneously seemed to both take forever and be over all too soon. The visit from his parents, Sirius, and Remus via the Resurrection Stone. Walking into the clearing. Voldemort incanting the Killing Curse, the last words he would ever hear. The bolt of Dark Magic travelling toward him as if in slow motion. There was no pain, no moment of realization as to his demise. One moment he was there in the forest and then, between one blink of his eyes and the next, he found himself here on the floor, surrounded by this strange fog.

As he got to his feet the mist around him began to coalesce. Before his eyes, shapes began to form; chairs, tables, walls, and a counter near a door to . . . who knew where. As he stood, he came to the sudden realization that he was completely nude. Glad that he was alone, he looked around hoping some of the mist had coalesced into clothes.

At least, he thought he was alone.

A feminine giggle and a "Nice butt there, Champ," had Harry swinging around to address the voice. There, sitting at one of the tables, was an impossibly attractive woman that made Harry wish he had a robe to cover his sudden and (not to toot his own horn) pretty easily noticeable interest in her beauty. Her curves were exquisite, with long crossed legs leading up to what appeared to be full, round hips encased in skin-tight dark denim. A trim waist gave way to a slightly above average bosom for her overall build, ensconced in another extremely tight piece of clothing, the V-neck t-shirt proclaiming 'Genie Inside, Rub Here and Have Your Wishes Granted' across the almost obscenely stretched chest of the garment. Continuing upward (though for a moment Harry was tempted to try and summon the Genie), after a slender neck was a beautiful face; high cheekbones curving down to a cute nose and full pink lips. Her brunette hair was curly and currently pulled into pigtails, and her big bright brown eyes seemed to swirl with some unknown combination of mirth, mischief, mayhem, and madness.

"Er . . . hi," Harry lamely opened with. The woman giggled again.

"Hello Harry. Won't you have a seat?" she responded, and he felt almost like a piece of meat as her eyes roamed up and down his body, lingering at the place he was desperately trying to cover with his hands.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked, suddenly more wary of his companion.

"Oh, I know a great deal about you, Mr. Potter," the woman replied silkily. As she ogled him again, she continued, "and I know a great deal more about you now than I did a minute ago." She laughed at the panicked expression of embarrassment on Harry's face, but instead of continuing the tease (which was her favorite part of dealing with mortals) she decided to show just a little bit of mercy and keep the proverbial ball rolling. "Please join me, and I'll do my best to explain and answer at least some of your questions."

Harry looked around before saying anything. "Umm . . . do you think there are any robes around here? Or a towel. Or anything really," he said.

"Are you cold, Harry?" she asked coyly.

"No . . . yes, yes, that's it. I'm cold," he answered, knowing she was playing with him. Hell, if he took a few steps forward the real reason for his request would have literally been staring her in the face. She seemed to know it too, because a (admittedly cute) pout came over her features before she pointed behind him. Looking back, he saw what appeared to be a bathrobe in Gryffindor red, easily discernible against the almost blindingly white backdrop of the room. He grabbed and quickly donned it before taking the offered seat opposite her at the table. "Thanks. So . . . I'm dead then?" Harry asked, trying to make sense of where he was and what was going on. _If this is, as Dumbledore called it, 'the next great adventure,' I think I want my money back_ Harry thought to himself, so far unimpressed with the afterlife except for the attractiveness of the company he was now keeping.

"No, you're not dead," she answered quickly before scrunching up her face and continuing. "Well, not really. Well, maybe a little. But not like full dead. Only kinda dead."

Harry just blinked at her.

"Okay, so the short answer is 'technically yes but we're going to be working on that,'" she finally said.

"Who's 'we?' Actually, who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, yeah, I tend to forget that most people who have met me don't get to come back and talk about it." She extended her hand across the table. "I'm Thandie. I'm your Benefactor, and you're Harry James Potter, my Champion."

Harry had just taken her hand to shake it when she said the last two parts. "Champion? Benefactor?"

"Yep," she said, popping the 'P' sound. "You are the rightful owner of all three of my artifacts, so that makes you my Champion in the mortal realm."

"Three artifacts . . . you mean the Deathly Hallows?"

"Ugh, what a misnomer," she said with a snort of derision. "There's nothing really hallowed about them. They were just the toys I chose to bestow upon my first Champions."

"You keep saying 'Champion,'" Harry responded. "I thought possessing all three Hallows made you the Master of Death."

A vicious smirk came over Thandie's features and she leaned farther over the table, giving Harry a rather delightful peek down her shirt as she lightly drew little circles on the back of Harry's hand - which he just realized she had kept hold of the entire time after their handshake - with her fingernails. "Harry, don't get me wrong; I like you, and you're packing a pretty decent bit of alright down below, so if you're up for a couple rounds of slap and tickle I'd be game. But if you think you can 'master' me, I'll tell you right now that more powerful beings than you have tried. Hell, I don't think Zeke will ever walk normally again." Harry's beet red reaction to her statements cause her to laugh again as she sat back and crossed her shapely legs again. "No, possessing the 'Hallows,'" she made air quotes at the word, "does not make you the 'Master of Death,'" again using air quotes while speaking the title in as deep a voice as she could manage. "The Master thing was actually some prick in like 1340 or something like that trying to overcompensate," she finished, sticking up her pinky and wiggling it to reinforce her statement. "Kind of sad really. But anyway, since The Rules changed so that we can each only have one Champion, after the Peverells died I decided that whoever could claim ownership over all 3 artifacts would become my designated Champion in the mortal realm. And you were the one to do so," she finished, giving Harry a light golf clap.

Harry's Adam's Apple moved as he gulped. "So you're Death?"

"That's one of my names," Thandie responded easily. She cocked her head at the expression on his face. "What? Expecting a black hooded cloak and a scythe? A skeletal hand reaching out to claim your soul and carry it on? Pfft. Propagandist bullshit."

"No. I mean, maybe a little, but you're . . . you're . . . " Harry pointed at her as he tried to get out the rest of his sentence.

"A girl?" Thandie offered.

"So bloody sexy," Harry finally answered without thinking, before slamming his hands over his mouth. _I can't believe I just told Death she was sexy_ he thought to himself. _She's going to murder me. Well, maybe not since I'm already dead, but she's going to do something to me._ He was wholly unprepared for her to smirk and to see just the lightest dusting of pink to rise on her cheeks.

"Why thank you, Harry. While most men's . . . reaction to me," she opened her eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and looked down toward his groin to indicate what she meant by 'reaction,' "usually expresses that non-verbally, it's still nice to hear it every now and then. Makes a girl feel good about herself and endears you just a little bit more to her heart. Keep up that honesty and willingness to cowboy up and speak what's going through your head to a woman and I can see you doing very well."

Harry desperately tried to change the subject, if only so that his face would stop burning. "You said something before: 'mortal realm,'" Harry said. "Can I assume then that you're from some immortal realm?" _What a dumb question. She'd Death; of course she's immortal._

"Yessireeyoubetcha," Thandie almost sung; if she thought his question was stupid it didn't show in her response. "No one's gotten the description, who is there, or what we do quite right yet, though a number of different religions have parts and pieces of the puzzle. But that's neither here nor there; I'm not in the mood to get into a debate about the merits and drawbacks of the various and sundry types of worship. The reason we're talking right now is that I've been made an offer to subcontract you out to a few acquaintances to help them with a particularly nasty problem that you already have some familiarity with."

"And what's that?"

"Tom Riddle." Any response Harry might have made died in his throat. "We'll get to the specifics in a bit, but first let me tell you a story."

Harry's embarrassed and confused but still semi-friendly countenance evaporated. "I'm not in the mood for stories," Harry snapped angrily. "Tom Riddle has been the bane of my existence since I was a baby. He murdered my parents, causing me to be raised by those goddamned Dursleys. His followers have killed, or caused to be killed, so many people that I care about. Dumbledore. Tonks. Fred. Remus." Harry swallowed hard. "Sirius," he whispered before finding his voice again. "I spent the last year trying to end him, enduring cold, hunger, desperation, doubt, fear, abandonment, and god knows what else." Harry's eyes shone with tears at his next statement. "I'll never get the sound of Hermione's screams out of my head as she was tortured. Because of him, and because of her loyalty to me." He stopped and took a breath. "I'm shot of him here, aren't I? And I can see my parents, and Sirius, and everyone else I've already lost again now that I'm here, right? And, eventually, everyone that I love that is still alive will end up here, right?"

Thandie looked at him. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?!" Harry yelled, standing so quickly that he knocked the chair he had been sitting in backwards. "My life was never simple, so why the FUCK can't my afterlife be?!"

For the first time since their meeting, the woman he was facing lost the flirty, flighty persona, and in the gaze she bore at him he saw what she truly was; he swore he could hear the truth of her in his mind. Yes, to look at her many would call her feminine perfection personified. To listen to her talk you'd call her a ditz or, as the Americans called it, a 'Valley girl.' Or maybe just an overly flirtatious bar bunny. But underneath it all was her true self. She was Deliberate. Determined. Driven. Dangerous. She was _Death,_ in the guise of a 5'10" brunette bombshell. "Sit," she commanded, and the chair shot back under him so fast he didn't even realize he was sitting again until they were once again face to face across the table. Her countenance softened slightly as she beheld him. "Listen, Harry, I understand you've had a lot of suck in your life, and not the good kind. And I understand that all you really want to do right now is rest. For fuck's sake, you walked into that clearing and took the hit just so that the people you love could have a chance of getting rid of that asshole. And, to be honest with you, I think you deserve a break, and if I could give you one I would. But I can't."

"Why not?" Harry asked again, but this time it came out as a whine as his elbows came up on the table and he buried his face in his hands. "Why does it have to be me?"

"Come with me and I'll show you," Thandie offered, standing from her chair and holding out her hand. After a moment's contemplation, Harry came across the table and laid his hand in hers. Instantly the room they had been in began to reshape, the fog returning before seeming to blow by as if they were travelling through a cloud. And when it cleared, they were someplace else entirely. Tall Ionic columns support a marble archway in which was housed a very solid looking door. Thandie pulled slightly on Harry to get him moving and, hand in hand, they walked toward the door, which opened at their approach. As they passed through into the room beyond, Harry was awed by the gigantic, elaborate tapestry that hung on the wall directly opposite them. It stretched farther up than Harry could see and was easily the width of a Quidditch pitch. As they approached it, he noticed that the myriad of threads that made up the hanging were so numerous and colorful that he wasn't sure he was aware so many different shades existed. There were bright bold primary colors mixed in with earth tones and shades of gray. There were even a decent number of different neon threads scattered throughout. They stopped a few feet away from the bottom right edge, where Harry noticed the only true mar in the otherwise oddly beautiful work of art.

"It looks like someone maybe had a few too many," Harry said, trying to inject some levity back into the budding relationship with his Benefactor. "Probably should have stepped away from the loom."

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, alcohol had nothing to do with it," said a voice to their left. Turning to the sound, Harry saw three women walking toward them. The one to the left was the shortest of the three, and wore a white long sleeved dress that flared at the waist and ran down to her ankles. The middle one was of average height but was very thin and dressed in a tight deep blue minidress with a surplice neckline. The third was tall and dressed in a flowing red dress that had a strap across one shoulder. It was the one in the middle that had spoken before, and she continued. "The damage that you see to the tapestry was not caused by any of us, though we are indeed the Weave's creators and keepers. No, that was caused by the evil of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes. They so polluted the natural order that they caused the very threads of Fate to entwine in patterns that I and my sisters had never intended."

Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember where he had heard of three sisters and Fate mentioned before; primary school was a long time ago, and it wasn't exactly something taught at Hogwarts. After a moment, it came to him. "You're the Moirae," he said at last. "Lachesis," he continued, indicating the short blond on the left, "Clotho," pointing at the black-haired woman in the short blue dress, "and Atropos," finally looking at the tall red-headed woman to the right.

"Indeed, though we prefer to go by Lacey, Chloe, and Attie," replied Atropos – Attie – as she turned back toward the wall. "But this is the problem at hand, and this is why we have asked Thandie if she would consent to have you help us."

Flabbergasted, Harry's eyes opened wide. "Me? What could I possibly do to help with that you three can't do?"

"A Horcrux is not only an abomination but an aberration," Lacey began. "There have been 127 Horcruxes created since the knowledge was first passed to man. Can you see anywhere else on the tapestry that looks as this does?" Harry looked up and then to his left as far as he could in each direction before shaking his head in the negative. "No, because while Tom Riddle is evil made flesh he is also extraordinarily bright and powerful. He's the only person in the entire span of humanity who was afraid of Thandie here enough to have ever made more than one, and in doing so he's created a situation that we are powerless to stop."

"I'm assuming you know my role," Attie took over for her sister. "I am the one who cuts the thread, who decides when and how life ends. Or, at least I'm supposed to." She approached the tapestry and pulled on a string that was such a dark orange that it was almost brown. "This is the fragment of Tom Riddle's soul that exists within his constructed body. Watch." She pulled her shears and Harry watched in stunned horror as they passed right through the thread in her hand. "For the first time in the history of the world, we are unable to end the life of a mortal when and how we please. Tom Riddle, at least from this aspect, is truly immortal."

"This is where you come in," Chloe picked up the story. " _We_ cannot end him, but _you_ can. As both a mortal and our Champion you could take this struggle back into your world and end the taint of Tom Riddle once and for all."

"So you want me to, what, exactly? Go back to Earth and finish Tom off?"

"That's one option," Chloe answered. "You could go back here," she pointed at a spot at the edge of the knot, "at just the moment you left, and have but one more Horcrux and Tom to defeat."

"However," Lacey stated, "that will not fix the damage that has been done." She walked over and the tapestry shifted, almost as if it had zoomed in on the knot, making it much larger and the individual threads within it more clearly defined. "It has been my job since time immemorial to measure out the threads of each mortal, but the Horcruxes have not only disrupted my sisters' work but my own." She pulled lightly on a bright pink thread that appeared to have broken due to the strain it came under while in the knot. "Nymphadora Alexandria Tonks Lupin. Her thread should have continued long past this moment." She grabbed another thread, this one lime green. Harry noticed that the threads had been braided with each other before they had both broken. "Remus John Lupin. While his string was not destined to continue as long as Nymphadora's, their entwining should have gone on for many years."

She released Remus's thread and, digging into the knot a little, pulled on another snapped one that was a brilliant yellow. "Cedric Edward Diggory."

A very light blue, almost white, one. "Colin Matthew Creevey."

A light grey thread. "Amelia Rachel Bones."

A string that was the color of beach sand. "Lavender Caroline Brown."

And finally, a jet black cord that was slightly thicker than the others. "Sirius Orion Black."

"And it's not just lives cut short," Chloe picked up the explanation from Lacey. "I've watched I don't know how many threads weave themselves together to form this tapestry, lacing themselves together to become stronger then they were separately." Seeing Harry's bewildered expression, she clarified. "Love, Harry. Of all forms. Familial, platonic, romantic; it is in large part love that weaves the tapestry. Familial and platonic love causes the cords to form amazing patterns as they continually criss-cross and form a very strong web, while romantic love causes them to braid themselves together. I, in the end, have to do very little but make sure that the correct threads start their journeys into the Weave near enough to each other that this takes place. It is a truly wondrous site to behold, no matter how many times I've seen it.

"But Voldemort has even disrupted that. Look here," she said, and the tapestry shifted yet again, to where now the strands within the knot were the diameter of Harry's pinky. Chloe grabbed a thread. "This is you, Harry," she said, running her hand up and down a bright, almost sky blue thread. As she did so Harry felt a tingling along his back, almost as if she were running her fingertips up and down his spine, and he shivered. He looked at her incredulously, and she just smirked. "Thandie isn't the only one who can tease," she said. "But I digress. One thing that I've always noticed is that the different bonds of love almost always appear as different color patterns. Familial relationships, or ones that are as good as family, are generally colors in the same spectrum; all shades of reds, blues, et cetera. Platonic love can really be anything, and believe me there have been some wild combinations. But a romantic love, at least one that is true, right, and destined to last, shows itself in complementary colors between the threads." She pulled again on Remus and Tonks' threads, bright pink and lime green. "But in some cases, this . . . monstrosity . . . has caused threads that really have no right to join as they have to do so." She backed up a little on Harry's thread and came to a deep navy blue string that had briefly braided with his own before they again separated. Harry looked at her questioningly, and in answer, she stated simply "Ginevra Molly Weasley."

"What?" Harry asked loudly. "But you said . . . family . . . how is that possible? I mean . . . sure she's Ron's little sister, and so has kind of been one to me to, but we . . . you know . . . were together."

"The simple answer is that as close as siblings is all you were ever supposed to be," Chloe said. "Did being with her ever seem . . . perhaps less than you thought it should?"

Harry thought about the few weeks that he and Ginny had been together at the end of Sixth Year, in particular to the moments alone they had stolen prior to leaving school. And as he considered them he thought of a few times where, though his hormonal teenage self had been more than happy to kiss and caress a willing female body, his emotional and intellectual sides had seemed . . . uncomfortable was probably the most apt description. He closed his eyes and shook his head to try and rid himself of the discomfort that was rising within him at the memories.

"Realizing something, aren't you Harry?" Lacey interjected, and he popped his eyes open to look at her. "And I'm sorry but you're not going to like a very possible reason that the two of you were ultimately attracted to each other, beyond her initial hero worship when she was very young, and of course both your and her physical attributes." The blond-haired sister walked up next to Chloe and slid back to a very faint, almost invisible, thread that upon very close inspection proved to be the same dark orange as Voldemort's cord had been. As Harry looked back along his own filament he saw that this one was wrapped around his throughout almost the entire knot; not braided like they had mentioned previously but chokingly attached like a vine. Or a weed. "This is the cord for the Horcrux that was in your scar," she said. "This color is complementary to Ginevra's and, to a much lesser extent, your own. That's one of the reasons it was able to attach to you that Halloween night. It's also one of the reasons he was so easily able to influence her with the Horcrux she was possessed by. No," she said immediately seeing Harry's face turn a little green, "that does not mean that either you or Ginevra were attracted to Tom Riddle, or hold any sort of affection for the man whatsoever. While Chloe is right that romantic entanglements show in complementary colored threads, it does not mean that such a relationship _has_ to exist. It's just a . . . compatibility, I guess. A familiarity; that thing that mortals can't seem to pin down about some of the people they encounter, but gives them the sensation that some people have the potential to be very important in their lives. It's like squares and rectangles; all threads destined for true romance are in complementary colors to each other but not all threads that are complementary colors to each other are destined for romance."

"The point," Attie said - giving both of her sisters a look that seemed to say ' _you're wasting time' –_ as she walked up and tugged on a gossamer string that travelled very closely alongside his own, "is that it was not Chloe's intent for you and Ginevra to be together. This person would be much more compatible with you, would generate a much more rewarding romantic relationship if you wish it. But because of both the Horcrux around your own thread and the damage that Tom Riddle's actions have caused as a whole, that never happened as it should have, or more accurately as it had the potential to."

Harry walked up and looked closely at the thread Attie had pointed out, and all three sisters stepped back from the tapestry. It was an almost perfect orange, bright and beautiful, and seemed a perfect match for his own cord in Fate's weaving. Harry reached his hand out to touch the new string, and as his fingertips brushed its length a series of images flashed through his head.

 _A small girl walking across a school stage to receive an award, a bright smile on her cherubic face. She was very pleased with herself at having done so well as to be receiving her prize in front of the entire school. She had worked hard on her project, and it was nice to be rewarded for her efforts, and it had been even nicer when her parents had both hugged her and said how proud they were of her._

 _A modest but well-kept sitting room with a decked-out Christmas tree in one corner. The same girl from the previous flash, this time a couple of years older, tore through the wrapping paper of her presents while a middle-aged couple, her parents Harry somehow knew, looked on with mirth and affection._

 _The same three people a few years farther along, and this time they were joined by someone Harry would know anywhere. Minerva McGonagall sat in a chair opposite the three on their couch as she explained that the little girl was a witch and would have to attend a special school to learn to utilize her gift. The girl's eyes lit up with excitement about the possibility that, not only was she magical, but that an entire new world both of knowledge and experiences would be open to her._

 _An argument in the same sitting room between the three family members, the mother complaining very loudly that the girl had almost died and wondering what was going on at the school they had agreed to send her to. The girl stating with conviction that they would not keep her away, that her best friend needed her and, now more than ever, she needed him too. Her father tried to put his foot down, to which the girl just said that she loved them both more than anything but if they tried to keep her from going back she would fight them with everything she had._

 _The older couple sitting on the couch, watching telly and talking about their vacation plans, when the girl quietly walked up behind them, tears streaming down her face. She raised her wand toward her parents and whispered a single word:_ "Obliviate."

Harry let go of the strand and dropped to his knees, breathing heavily and with his heart aching. "Hermione," he managed to gasp, and suddenly he fully understood the sacrifices that his best friend had made; had made because she cared about him more than he had ever realized. She had gotten into her first and only screaming match with her parents after their foray into the Department of Mysteries because she had followed him there and gotten hurt, which had scared them half to death. The same loving parents who had raised her, nurtured her, and always believed in her, she was going toe to toe with in order to stay by his side. The same two people who would do anything for her, do anything to make her happy. The parents that she had made forget her, their only child, so that they would be safe while she went with him on his mission to find the Horcruxes. It had nearly destroyed her to do what she had done to them, not knowing if she would ever be able to get them back. She had cried herself to sleep every night for almost a week afterward. But she had done it.

For him.

Harry's mind re-engaged, and he stood back up and faced the four women, phoenix fire burning in his eyes. The sisters looked on with stoic and unreadable expressions, but Thandie had a smile on her face that would light up London. "What's option B?" he said simply.

"Pardon?" Chloe asked.

"You said my going back to right when I left was one option. What's the other? What allows me to fix this? To make sure Cedric and Sirius and Remus and Tonks and as many of the others as possible live as long as you intended them to?" He looked back at the brilliant orange thread and felt a surge of affection for his best friend that he had never allowed himself to feel before, but that felt right nonetheless. "What do I have to do to make sure that Hermione never has to do that, never has to feel that? I'll do whatever it takes."

The Moirae smiled; they had their Champion. It was Thandie, however, who got the first comment in. "It's very simple. We untie the knot."

"Not anywhere near 'simple,' but essentially correct," Lacey commented. "We, as the keepers of the tapestry, will undo the Weave in and around the knot, unravelling time and reality back as far as we dare, so that as much of the knot as possible is undone. The good news is that this will eliminate a great deal of the damage, allowing us to re-forge the threads that have been prematurely snapped and hopefully putting things back on track. Also, provided nothing that was inside the knot goes too haywire, the rest of the tapestry should rebuild itself pretty much the way it was before, so as you mortals say, 'no harm, no foul.'"

"You're going to revert time?" Harry asked, and they nodded. "If things outside the knot should end up the same as they were, what are the chances that things within it work out any differently this time than last time?"

"That's where you come in," Chloe said. "You see, when we undo the weave, I will be threading . . . well, you . . . back along your own cord such that you maintain all of the knowledge and experiences that you've had since the point we will revert to. That will give you not only the additional years of education and maturity but the knowledge that you already possess about Tom, the Horcruxes, and everything else. I can also make it such that the Horcrux that was with you stays snapped and doesn't make the trip back with you, but only that one. Without it wrapped around and, for lack of a better term, choking your soul you should also notice a few hopefully welcome changes."

It sounded too good to be true. And when something sounds too good to be true . . . "What's the catch?"

"Well for one, it means that you're going to have to find and destroy all of the Horcruxes again. And you're going to have to do it without arousing suspicion that you have any information that you shouldn't. You can't just walk into Dumbledore's office and say 'I know where the Horcruxes are, let's go get 'em.' To do so would radically destabilize the tapestry and possibly do things to it that are even worse than the knot. You need to find a way to do this quietly and unobtrusively, without raising suspicion and while still going through everything you went through during the time that we send you back to. You'll have to lie to almost everyone, to people you never thought you would lie to, and you're going to have to be convincing about it. Forever. The truth can never slip out."

"Two," Attie continued, "you are going to have to live with the knowledge of what happened for the rest of your life. You'll remember all of the deaths, all of the pain and suffering. It might not sound like much at the moment, but part of that is because you haven't really had time to process much of it yet. But you'll look at people and remember how they fell, and how you felt when it happened. It's unavoidable."

Harry looked at Thandie. "I'll remember watching Sirius fall through the Veil? Seeing Cedric get hit by Wormtail's Killing Curse? And when I see them, I'll also see those moments?" The beautiful being just nodded her head. "And I'll remember Hermione's screams." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, solidifying his resolve. "Worth it. What else?"

It was Lacey who answered. "Once we send you back we will not be able to help you in any way. While we are doing this in order to try and restore the natural order, it is forbidden for us to truly interfere in the mortal realm. We're bending The Rules quite severely just to do what we're already doing, but both we and Zeke agree that it's the best plan we have."

Harry nodded his head. "Okay, when do I leave?"

The sisters walked over and stood in front of him before Chloe spoke. "Thandie will take you where you need to go, and once you're in place we'll begin the process." Chloe smiled before putting her hand on the center of his chest. Lacey put hers on his left shoulder, and Attie put hers on his right. "Thandie may be your Benefactor, but you are our Champion now as well, the Champion of both Fate and Death."

"Try not to let it go to your head," Attie said with a smirk.

"Oh, and even though the fate of the world as you know it is in the balance, try to have a little fun," Lacey said with a smile of her own.

"All work and no play makes Harry a dull boy," Chloe finished, before the three women released him from their grasp and stepped back again.

Thandie came up next to Harry and took his hand. "Time to go, Champ," she said, and together they walked back through the doorway. Once again the mist formed and passed by them, except this time when it stopped instead of a small café they appeared to be in a stark white replica of his Hogwarts dorm. "Which one is you?" she asked, and Harry pointed at one of the four-poster beds. Thandie walked up to him and pressed herself against him. "You know, we have a little time before they're ready. Sure you don't want to play a quick round of Hide the Wand?"

Harry flushed red but managed to extricate himself from her personal space before replying. "Not that I'm not interested, and not that I don't think it will be something I would never forget, but I think I've got just the right girl in mind for my first time," he replied, his thoughts falling back to his brown-haired best friend.

Far from being disappointed, Thandie smiled at him as she sat demurely on the edge of his bed. "Then take to heart what I told you earlier; be honest and willing to speak from your heart. It makes a girl feel good about herself." She patted the bed next to her. "Now, Champ, a few things before you head back." Harry took the offered spot and turned to face her. "First, remember what the sisters said; without the Horcrux there are going to be some differences that you're going to have to get a grip on PDQ. If the changes are too radical or too noticeable it could eff stuff up. Second, just because they said we can't help once you leave here doesn't mean we can't help _before_ you leave," she said with a mischievous grin. "I don't know what those three have in mind, but for my part I'm not going to make you some superwizard or anything like that. That being said, you might all of a sudden know a few things that you didn't before that might help you along the way. Consider them a present from a benevolent Benefactor." She puffed out her perfect chest in self-importance.

"Next, remember that you are my Champion, both now and the 'then' that we're going to send you to. It's a lifetime conscription. That means that even when you return you will be the master of my artifacts; they will answer to your call if you desire it. Be cautious of their power but don't hesitate to use it should the situation warrant.

"Lastly," Thandie said, and again her normal demeanor vanished in favor of a more serious countenance, "remember that the whole point of this is to try and put things as right as they can be put back to. That means that things will work out differently than they did the first time. People may be different. Events may not play out the way you remember. Just because something happened one way before, or someone reacted a certain way before, don't take it for granted that things will happen that way again. Some of that may be for the better, some for the worse, so just do the best you can with it."

Harry nodded, recognizing the wisdom in her statement. He tentatively reached out and took her hands in his. "Thank you, Thandie." Her right eyebrow raised at his comment. "I know that I was brought here in order to be given a job, but I also understand that I'm being given an opportunity to literally change the world for the better. And I know that opportunity only exists because of you. So, thank you." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and was again amused to see her slight blush.

"Oh you're going to be trouble, I can tell," Thandie said with a smirk. She opened her mouth to say something else but then stopped and looked around. As Harry did the same he noticed that the white replica of his dorm room wasn't quite so white anymore; very faint color was rising in all of the surfaces. "We're out of time. Quick, under the covers." Harry pulled back his comforter and climbed into his bed, and let out a light laugh as Thandie proceeded to tuck him in. As more color came to the environment, she ran her hand lightly through his hair. "Take care of yourself Harry. And remember; be honest and speak from the heart." She bent down and kissed him on the forehead, and he felt a warmth pass from her to him. "Sleep now, Harry. When you wake, you'll be as far back as they can send you."

Harry started to drift and was nearly out when, as if from a great distance, he heard Thandie exclaim "Really? They're sending him back to _then_?! Those bitches! Those complete fucking bitches!" He couldn't make his brain process her statements properly as he felt the last of his consciousness leave him, and his world went black.

{-}

Groggily Harry began the process of blinking the sleep out of his eyes. For the first time in he wasn't sure how long he felt warm, well-rested, and eager to start the day. As his mind fully engaged, the events of his unbelievable journey came back to him, and he shot straight up in bed and took in his surroundings. The first thing he immediately noticed was that the room was in clear focus despite the fact that he didn't have his glasses on. _Maybe this is one of those changes in me they mentioned_ Harry thought to himself. He was in his bed in the Gryffindor dorms; the other four sets of curtains were open, showing that he was alone in the room. He looked over at the clock on his bedside table and saw that it was almost the end of the breakfast hour on Sunday, 1 November, 1994.

1 November, 1994. The day after the Goblet of Fire had spat out his name as the Fourth Champion in the _Tri -_ Wizard Tournament. When Ron had accused him of betraying their friendship and cheating his way into the competition. The beginning of almost the entire school - and then a good chunk of the wizarding world once Rita Skeeter's articles started - once again turning against him. The beginning of the series of events that led to the return of Lord Voldemort in a little over 8 months' time. With a loud groan Harry fell back onto his bed and couldn't help but both agree with and reiterate the last words he'd heard from Thandie.

"Those complete fucking bitches!"

* * *

A/N: For whatever reason I really enjoyed writing the god and goddesses above, especially the alternative names. I mentioned the Fates, but if it's unclear "Zeke" is Zeus/Jupiter/Odin/Yahweh/God/Allah, whatever - the head honcho. Thandie is Thanatos from Greek mythology. Yes, I made Death a girl: deal with it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: In Chapter 1 I said that 1 November 1994 was a Tuesday, which is what it actually was. However, in the Rowlingian Calendar 1 November was a Sunday. Please assume that, for this story, I am using the Rowlingian Calendar and Obliviate that I wrote it was a Tuesday from you minds. I could re-post Chapter 1 with it fixed, but eh.

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – And the Hits Just Keep On Comin'**

Cultures, religions, and philosophers throughout history have come to different conclusions on the subject of death. Some believe that there is only one mortal life, and when you pass on you truly pass out of existence forever, your 'soul' merely a series of electrochemical reactions. Others believe in the concept of an afterlife, where you are reunited with loved ones who have already gone on to, as Albus Dumbledore called it, 'the next great adventure.' Still others believe in the concept of reincarnation; that a person lives many mortal lives trying to either accomplish some task, atone for some wrong, or gain sufficient wisdom to be able to carry on to the next plane of existence. Percentage-wise, however, the various thinkers and believers of the world agree that approaching the end of one's time is not something to be feared or run from; it is the one thing that unites all living things, the one thing we must all do. And so, while perhaps 'celebrated' is the wrong word to use, one should approach death, as Beedle put it, as 'an old friend' and an 'equal.'

That being said . . .

At the moment Thandie burst through the doorway to the Tapestry Room, jeans and t-shirt covered by a billowing trenchcoat of the deepest impenetrable black, every single one of those scholars, philosophers, metaphysicists, pastors, rectors, imams, rabbis, gurus, etc. who took a more gentle outlook on the end of a mortal life would have been shouting their mistake to the world while cowering in a corner, terrified out of their minds. She stormed into the room, the heavy golden doors flying away as if made of balsa wood to crash loudly into their respective walls, the brunette seeming every inch the vision of the hateful and vengeful personification of Death that has given mortals nightmares for centuries. It wasn't hard to imagine dangerous storm clouds forming at her whim as Chaos and promises of Pain sat barely concealed in her eyes. Her normally jovial face was twisted in a visage of rage and, though technically immortal, all three of The Sisters were glad that she had decided not to conform fully to the stereotype and bring a scythe with her as she stalked toward them like a predator heading toward her latest kill. "Are you out of your fucking minds?!" she screamed at them without preamble.

"What?" Attie called back nervously, looking at the newly un-knotted hanging on the wall. "It looks like everything took. The snapped threads are repaired and most of the damage is undone. I think we did a pretty good job myself."

"Did you bother for a second to see _when_ you sent him back to?" Thandie said, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Of course we did," Lacey responded, seemingly insulted. Thandie's hard stare shot down the rising rebelliousness before it even had a chance to grow, but she continued her explanation. "We could have sent him as far back as the first full moon after his fourteenth birthday. However, we were led to believe that his schooling began slightly later than that, on the first day of the month after that moon. Harry was born as the seventh month died, meaning that the first full moon after would have been in the eighth, so therefore his school year started on the first day of the ninth. We believed delivering him to that day would allow him to re-integrate more easily, any recognized changes in his personality or knowledge from being mentally older would be attributed to changes over the summer. So that's when we sent him back to; the first of November in the year he turned fourteen." She finished with a flourish and a little sway of her upper body, an expression of how proud she was that they had thought the placement of their Champion through so well.

Thandie, on the other hand, could only blink her unbelieving eyes repeatedly, desperately trying to understand how three women who literally watched life play out on the wall could be so stunningly ignorant of the mortal realm. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to remember the breathing exercises Harmony had taught her. She opened them and discovered it wasn't helping; she still wanted to slap the ever-living shit out of all three of them. So she counted to ten again and popped open her eyes once more.

 _Nope. Not working. Oh well, go with what you know_ she decided.

She turned a gaze that would literally melt the skin off a man (she had found that out the hard way. Well, hard way for him. It came quite naturally to her) at the Keepers of Fate in front of her. Her anger returned in full force as the implications of what had been done once again took hold in her mind. "You stupid bitches," the very agitated avatar of Death growled, and a rumble of thunder was heard in a terrifying consonance to the one born from her throat. "November hasn't been the ninth month of the calendar of Western Civilization in . . . in . . . well I'm not sure how long to be honest, but September is the ninth month now."

"September?" Attie said. "Well that's ridiculous. 'Sept-' means seven. 'Nov-' means nine. Therefore November should be the ninth month."

"I'm not here to debate this shit with you, Attie. Regardless of the way you _think_ things should or should not be, it matters not one damned bit at the moment. November is the eleventh month, not the ninth. And since that's so, you've sent our Champion back to one of, if not _the most_ , difficult, potentially deadly, and socially, physically, emotionally, and psychologically traumatizing times in his life, and all that _before_ we placed the future of the world on his shoulders. And you've placed him there just _after_ he could have taken steps to try and prevent his participation in the most significant event that caused the worst of his persecution and turmoil. Now, in addition to having to fix all of the things we asked him to he also has to survive what is, for all intents and purposes, less a competition and more a gilded invite to a charnel house. So congratulations; you've just about bent us over a barrel right out of the gate, and probably made our Champion think we're nothing but a bunch of sadists who enjoy finding new and exciting ways to fuck with his life while sitting up here munching on popcorn and popping up more hoops for him to jump through like a trained godsdamned dolphin at SeaWorld." She took a deep breath as she finished almost her entire rant in a single breath. But she wasn't finished yet. "He wasn't exactly your biggest fan before; if he pulls this off, you'd better hope someone doesn't end up elevating him to demigod status or else you three are fucked." Thandie thought she was doing a very good job of not letting the devil on her right shoulder control her actions, though at the moment his suggestion of hanging all three sisters upside down and flagellating them until they were bloodied husks which, since their kind tended to heal very quickly could take a while, held a certain appeal to her. However, the angel on her left shoulder's constant reminder that she had to find a way to get in touch with and explain things to Harry kept her from acting on her baser urges.

 _Work now. Play later._

The Sisters, however, knew that they were a hair's breadth from the gaping maw of the abyss that was Thandie's well-documented mean streak. If she could do half of the things she reportedly did to her lovers they didn't even want to contemplate what she would do to those she was upset with. All three women looked back at the tapestry and pondered for a moment. "We can fix this," Lacey said at last. "We'll just –"

"You three have done enough," Thandie spit out. "I'll handle this. Just stay out of my way." And with that, the brunette turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, grumbling about 'old hags who can't be bothered to look at a fucking calendar since Caesar crossed the Rubicon' the entire way. As she walked and her agitation ebbed slightly, she tried to figure out how she could get a message to Harry and convince him that Fate wasn't _intentionally_ leaving him with no choice but to bend over and unclench while they took him for a backdoor rodeo joyride _sans_ lube.

Again.

{-}

Hermione Granger was worried. Normally this wouldn't be a momentous thing worth mentioning; the young woman was worried a lot of the time, though usually about schoolwork. This time, however, she was worried about her best friend Harry Potter; also not an uncommon occurrence, though for once the worry did not directly align with one of Harry's 'adventures' but with the boy's just gods-awful luck. Last night had become an unmitigated disaster when Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. She knew he hadn't done it himself but hadn't had the chance to talk to him about it the night before because the Weasley Twins had decided that his entrance into a competition with a ridiculously high mortality rate was reason enough for a party. Harry had disappeared up to his dorm before Hermione could catch him.

This morning things were even worse. The Slytherins, percentage-wise, had always hated Gryffindors in general and Harry in particular. His entry into the Tri-Wizard just gave them more of an excuse to give him a hard time, which they had been doing at breakfast even without his presence. Draco Malfoy in particular could be heard almost the entire length and breadth of the Great Hall stating that he didn't think Harry would last ten minutes into the First Task, to the general amusement of the Slytherins and, more disconcertingly, nods of agreement from some at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Except for Quidditch there was a silent but understood truce between the Lions, the Eagles, and the Badgers. Each of the three houses had enough trouble just dealing with the Snakes; they didn't need to fight amongst themselves as well. Now, though, that truce seemed to be broken. The Ravenclaws were taking the Occam's Razor approach to the situation; Harry's name had come out of the Goblet, therefore he had put his name in. It was much more feasible than an of-age student putting Harry's name in for him or, even more far-fetched, that some adult had done it for reasons unknown. The Hufflepuffs were worse, though. Most of them saw Harry's entrance as an almost personal insult to Cedric Diggory, who even now Hermione had heard referenced as 'the _real_ Hogwarts Champion.' Their loyalty, while most of the time a very admirable trait, was currently making the brown-haired Gryffindor wish they'd have a little more loyalty to the person that had saved them all from You-Know-Who instead of a shared color scheme and Common Room.

Perhaps the worst offender, however, was Harry's other supposed best friend Ron Weasley. Ron had entered the Great Hall in a bad mood and would snap any time he heard Harry's name, calling him a liar, a cheat, and a scoundrel (Hermione didn't even know Ron knew that word, let alone that he could use it semi-correctly) for entering the competition. Nevermind that Ron had tried to find a way to enter himself; the fact that Harry had, allegedly, figured out a way and not told him was just another example of 'that no good bloody glory-hound putting himself back into the spotlight.' Hermione figured that Ron would come around eventually; she just hoped that Harry wouldn't have to suffer serious bodily harm in order for that to happen.

The brilliant Fourth Year finished her meal quickly and grabbed some buttered toast in a napkin to take up to Harry; she was fairly sure that he would not want to be in the Great Hall for any real length of time today. Walking up the seven flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower, she was almost bowled over by someone trying to exit as she entered. She saw a thatch of black hair and started to say the name of her best friend, only at the last minute to realize that it was actually a Third Year named Pearson scurrying out to try and get to breakfast before it stopped being served. Slightly disappointed but still determined, Hermione continued on into the Gryffindor Common Room and began her search for her friend. A few inquiries led her to the information that she was looking for; he was not in the room, and no one had seen him come downstairs yet. Hurriedly she made her way up the stairs to the Fourth Year boys' dorm and was about to knock when she heard a repeated dull thumping and what sounded like angry, muffled words that she couldn't make out. Thinking that her best friend was being accosted by someone, she threw open the door to the dorm, intent on protecting Harry. What she actually found made her stop in her tracks.

Harry was leaning up against his headboard, hands fisted into his sheets and eyes closed as he repeatedly brought his head forward and then quickly (and seemingly painfully) back against the thick wood of the bed, each impact accompanied by a seemingly desperate exclamation. _Thump._ "Couldn't." _Thump._ "Do." _Thump._ "One." _Thump._ "More." _Thump._ "Fucking." _Thump._ "Day."

"Harry Potter! Language! And just what do you think you're doing?" Hermione asked in what Harry would describe as her 'mid-range bossy' tone of voice.

Harry responded while not stopping his masochism. "Pinching myself didn't seem to be working, so I was hoping maybe a concussion would wake me up from this nightmare." All of a sudden Harry stopped with a final (and unfortunately for his already aching head) resonating crack against the headboard. His eyes popped open to their fullest and his eyebrows rose into his fringe. "Hermione," he said simply, and then it happened. Harry was thrown back . . . or fast-forwarded . . . _Fuck, this time travel stuff is confusing_ he thought . . . to Malfoy Manor, and he heard it all again.

The screams.

Hermione crying out in terror and agony as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her using both the _Cruciatus_ and that sharp, wicked looking blade she had wielded. The sound of his best friend's torment reverberating off the stone walls of their basement prison, each reflected echo a stab to his heart. The screams continued on and on; even when they started to get hoarse as Hermione's throat became inflamed they lost none of their volume, or their ability to tear through any mental defenses Harry had and make him nearly insane with righteous but impotent anger that someone would do that to such a beautiful soul as her.

He knew this would be the price. He had agreed to willingly pay it; to ensure that those same pained shrieks that had once before, and would now seemingly again, pierce his psyche, would never happen. That she wouldn't be almost killed in the Department of Mysteries, causing the knockdown/drag-out fight with her parents he had witnessed when he'd held her thread. That she wouldn't feel like she was committing the ultimate act of betrayal as she turned her wand on them so that they would disappear to Australia. He just hadn't expected the recollection to be quite so . . . vivid. It shook him to his core, and he felt the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he turned his head to look at Hermione.

She stood there glaring at him; not the woman he last remembered but still the girl he had known. Her fifteen-year-old self had not yet had her front teeth shrunk or her hair trimmed after she had finally found a steady supply of Sleekeazy's to make it cooperate more. He remembered that she had started developing her womanly curves sometime during Third Year but they had been subtle changes up until about midway through Fifth, the result of which was that the fist she held on her hip as her arm stood akimbo did not have quite as much area to rest on as it would a couple of years from now. Still, he'd know that pose anywhere; it was the one she'd give him or Ron when she wanted to be disapproving. Which, given that it was Harry and Ron, was a decent amount of the time.

Before taking hold of her string in the Tapestry and having her life flash before his eyes, he had never really given a lot of thought to how much she had done for him over the years of their friendship. Of course there was the simple stuff; for their entire school careers she had helped him study and prepare for classes, trying to keep him at least somewhat studious. Then there were the Christmas and birthday presents, and the letters during the summers that helped keep him sane when he was at his aunt and uncle's house, and the fact that she had never missed a Quidditch game in which he had played.

Then there were the major events. She had gone with him after the Philosopher's Stone. She had figured out Slytherin's monster and stood up for him when people had accused him of being the man's heir and causing all of the petrifications around the school. Gone back in time with him to save Sirius. This year, at least the first time around, she had been the only student he knew of that had honestly believed him and stood by him in the weeks leading up to the First Task. She had helped him prepare and had done her best to settle his nerves while he knew now that her own had been on edge nearly as much as his. The next year she had formed the DA around him and helped him teach their classmates to defend themselves. Even with their disagreements in their previous Sixth Year she had stayed at his side and helped him through all of the tribulations of that year. And then she had given up her family, her home, her _life_ outside of him, in order to help find and destroy the Horcruxes.

She had been the first person he could remember who hugged him. Though it had been on the cheek, she had been his first kiss. She was the first (and so far only) person that he had spent the night in the same bed with, during a few of the really cold nights when they had been living in the tent. She was the first person who seemed to openly and honestly give a damn about him and indeed, in spite of everything, the first person whom he really thought loved him.

And she had been repaid with ignorance. Anger. Frustration. Exasperation. Everything but the returning of the unconditional love and friendship, the stalwartness of true companionship, and the absolute faith and trust that she deserved. And _that's_ what hurt him more than those screams; that all those things were the only real payment she had ever received for believing in him.

 _Well, FUCK that_ Harry thought to himself. He turned in his bed and started to rise.

For her part, Hermione had opened her mouth to begin her lecture when she saw the first tear fall from Harry's left eye and roll down his cheek. She almost gasped as it seemed to her as if she was seeing her best friend for the first time. He was looking at her with an expression she had never seen on him before; like seeing her was both the most painful and most wonderful thing in the world to him. Suddenly, like a locked door flying open, she felt something weird unclick inside her. She couldn't understand it, but at the moment it didn't matter. The napkin full of toast fell forgotten to the floor as she flew across the room to embrace him. Unfortunately he hadn't yet steadied himself, and the enthusiastic arrival of her body against his caused both of them to tumble back onto the bed, their foreheads smacking together painfully as Hermione landed on top of and pressed tightly against Harry. Noticing their compromising positioning and Harry's lack of proper clothing, Hermione quickly (though somewhat reluctantly, she noted; a feeling she would have to explore in more detail later) rolled off to lie next to him as they both took a few moments to let the stars fade from their vision. Harry's head was throbbing even worse than before as he spoke up.

"Ow. Hermione, not that I'm not happy to see you, but perhaps you can give a bloke a warning in the future? I might actually _have_ a concussion now."

"It's not _my_ fault you can't handle women throwing themselves at you," she replied without missing a beat. "I know I'm always calling you hard-headed, Harry, but that's supposed to be a figure of speech," she finished while rubbing the spot on her forehead where they had collided. The two teens turned their heads and stared at each other for a second before they couldn't help it any longer; they both broke out in laughter. It was cathartic for Harry, relieving a lot of stress the last day, both before he'd 'died' and since. Hopefully he wouldn't have many more days like it; _breaking into Gringotts, stealing a priceless artifact, riding a dragon, leading the defense of an ancient castle, meeting your dead parents, letting yourself be killed, and then meeting a bunch of goddesses should be something one reserved for special occasions_ Harry decided to himself. _Like never, ever, ever again._

As he looked at Hermione again and saw the amusement written in her features, he couldn't help but feel a blossoming sensation take hold in his heart, the same one he had felt when he'd looked upon Hermione's bright orange thread as he was talking to the Fates. The monster that had lived in his chest during Sixth Year, the one that had wanted Dean Thomas horribly maimed for dating Ginny when Harry himself wanted to, was suddenly purring in contentment at the proximity of his body to Hermione's. _Down boy_ he thought. _I know what they said, and it would seem I don't disagree with you, but she's our friend first. If she wants to be more we will explore that, but until then be cool. More than anything, I want to be the best friend to her that I can possibly be._ Whether anything ever happened between the two of them or not, Harry vowed in that instant that he would find a way to repay every kindness she'd shown him, because damnit that's what she deserved.

For her part, Hermione was glad that a potentially teary moment appeared to have been avoided. Normally when other people started crying she started crying, and she needed to be strong for Harry. Once he fully realized what the reaction within the castle was, he would need her to be steady, to be his rock. He'd never been able to lean on anyone his whole life, and Hermione had been determined since she'd put together what his home life was like to be a person Harry could rely on. Suppressing the rest of her mirth, she turned toward him and engulfed him in as much of a hug as she could given their positioning; it ended up more like she was laying half on top of him with one arm wrapping around his neck. The monster growled in appreciation but Harry, while pleased with the contact, inwardly groaned at his newly formed resolution being tested not 5 seconds after he'd made it. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry for how I reacted when I came in. I know all of this must be so difficult for you."

 _If only you knew the half of it_ Harry thought to himself as his arms came up and around her. "It's fine, Hermione," he said out loud, "I'm sorry you caught me swearing."

She lifted her head to look up at him, amusement still clear in her eyes. "But you're not sorry you swore?"

"Hell no," he answered, earning an exasperated smile and a light smack on the chest from her. "I think I'm entitled to a bit of cussing given what's happened." He saw the look of fear, anger, and disappointment in her eyes, and he was momentarily taken back to what Thandie had told him. _'People may be different. Events may not play out the way you remember.'_ Was this one of those? Did the simple fact of him coming back make it so that Hermione no longer believed he hadn't entered himself in the Tournament? Choking down his rising anxiety, Harry gave voice to his fears. "You . . . you believe me, right? That I didn't put my name in the Goblet?"

The look instantly cleared from her eyes and she was back to hugging him. "Of course I believe you, Harry. You've said since we found out about the tournament that you didn't want to enter, and I know you well enough to know that your reactions last night were genuine."

 _She really does know me that well, doesn't she?_ Harry mused. _That's . . . nice, I guess. I think. A bit scary. But nice._ "So what was that look you just gave me?"

"Look?"

"There was anger and a look of disappointment in your eyes."

Her head came back up again. "You can read my eyes?" At his nod, she thought to herself _That's . . . nice, I guess. I think. A bit scary. But nice._ She closed her eyes for a second to shake her thoughts away; she could contemplate the level of emotional intimacy required for reading a person like that, its possible ramifications, and her thoughts on the matter, later. "It's . . . it's everyone else I'm angry at and disappointed in, Harry. The rest of the school pretty much thinks that you submitted your name." Hermione expected him to rage: to rail against the injustice of it, to angrily denounce the student body as foolish and to wrap himself in an insulation of righteous indignation.

What she did not expect was a sober nod and a simple question. "What about Ron? Is he one of the ones that think I put my name in the Goblet?"

Hermione hedged her response to that, no knowing how much Harry's seeming new-found maturity against yet another persecution could take. "No, I don't think so. Well, not _really_ . . ."

"He's jealous, isn't he?" Harry couldn't say he wasn't disappointed that hadn't changed, but he resigned himself to the fact that things wouldn't instantaneously change just because he got shot back in time. "Jealous that I 'found a way in.' That I didn't tell him. That I'm hogging all the glory for myself. More fame, more money, more press. That about accurate?" Hermione could only nod dumbly at Harry's perceptiveness (as she saw it).

Harry, however, was now focused on his memories of Ron's second 'abandonment,' when he had left them during the hunt for the Horcruxes. He remembered thinking then that something between them had broken, and being back in the aftermath of the first time Ron had turned against him Harry couldn't help but wonder if that break hadn't in fact started right here. Maybe they had been kidding themselves that things could go back to the way they used to be after Ron's half-assed apology after the First Task. It had been the same way after he'd come back during the hunt; they had all proceeded along as if nothing was any different. Somehow, though, Harry knew things _were_ different, and not just because he had 3 more years of memories now. He wasn't feeling as . . . forgiving against those he felt had wronged him than he believed he used to be. Whether that was because of his anger toward The Sisters bleeding over, the loss of the Horcrux unlocking something, or just the hindsight time provides he had no idea; he just knew it to be true.

Harry finally returned to the moment to see Hermione looking at him, waiting on his further reaction to the information about Ron. He blew out a long breath and came to a decision. "You know what? It's fine, Hermione. He'll come 'round when he realizes what an idiot he's being, and hopefully we'll be able to move past it if he seems honestly repentant. But if not, I can't afford to lose any sleep over it right now. Besides, you're all I really need," he said, smirking with satisfaction at her surprised look. He wrapped her up a little tighter. "As long as I've got you, everyone else can get stuffed. And that includes Ronald 'I'm being a jealous git' Weasley."

Hermione could only look at Harry with more than a little bit of confusion, despite the warm feeling his comments about needing her had engendered. Her best friend was not behaving the way history would have had her expect. He seemed resigned to his fate; that was right. But instead of raging or falling into a funk, he was showing resoluteness, self-assuredness, and a willingness to 'Gryffindor up' and stand his ground, which was honestly refreshing to her. She cleared her throat and was about to ask him what was going on with him when he lifted his head toward the door.

"Damn. I guess breakfast in bed is out," he said flippantly, and Hermione followed his eyes to the now scattered pile of toast that was laying on the floor.

"Ack! Harry, I'm sorry –"

"No need to be sorry, Hermione," he said easily. "I appreciate the thought, and I can grab something later. What do you say you let me get cleaned up and dressed and we'll head out onto the grounds? Easier to avoid everyone that way."

"That's a great idea, Harry. We can start talking about strategy and spells you should learn and –"

"And I can ask you some questions I should have asked a long time ago."

She tilted her head at him in confusion. "Questions? What kind of questions?"

Harry shrugged. "Simple stuff. Things friends should know about each other. Like your middle name." Of course he already knew it was Jean, but the only reason he'd found that out was because of the reading of Dumbledore's will. "Like your parents' names." _For fuck's sake, she tore out her own heart when she took their memories and sent them to the other side of the world and I never even bothered to find out what their real names were. Just Wendell and Monica Wilkins._ "Favorite holiday. Favorite book. Favorite song. Hell, favorite color. We've been friends for . . . " Harry almost said 7 ". . . 3 years and I'm just now realizing that, aside from your love of books and learning and knowing your birthday is the nineteenth of September, I know next to nothing about you." He turned his head away and got a far away look as he whispered, "What a terrible friend I've been."

Hermione grabbed his chin and turned his head back to face her. She gave him her 'Grade 3 I'm serious about this' stare as she made her statement with the conviction she saved for when she had absolute surety in what she was saying. "Harry, you've been a very good friend. Probably the best friend I've ever had if I'm honest with myself. No, you haven't asked me a lot about the details of my life, but there's a lot more to friendship than that. Do you understand me?" If being tossed into the tournament hadn't sunk his mood she didn't want him thinking that he'd been a bad friend to do so.

Harry managed to smile at the glare he knew so well and the tone of voice that would brook no argument. "Yes Mistress," he answered cheekily.

Hermione let go of his chin and smiled back. "And don't you forget it. Now, get ready. I'll meet you downstairs in 20 minutes." She jumped off the bed and headed for the door.

"Yes Mistress," he said again to her retreating form. "Wash my back?" he asked mischievously. A look over her shoulder, a wide-eyed stare, and a strained huff was all he got in response as he walked toward the bathroom cackling. With his back turned, he missed seeing the wide smile that finally came to Hermione's face as she walked out of the room. _Mistress Hermione. I think I could get used to that._

{-}

Harry walked into the bathroom attached to their dorm and started the water in one of the 2 shower stalls. Once the water was warm, which didn't take long at all ( _thank you, Magic_ he thought), he stripped down to his birthday suit and climbed in. He'd just started rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when something happened that shocked him so badly that his back slammed into the wall of the stall and he nearly lost his footing. And much to the chagrin of the Monster, it wasn't Hermione deciding to take him up on his offer for her to join him.

"Nice butt there, Champ," came the voice from . . . seemingly everywhere.

"Fuck me sideways," a very startled Harry exclaimed as he tried to slow his heartrate back down.

"I offered, you said no," was the response from the overly flirtatious deity.

"Thandie? Where the hell are you?" Harry said, looking around before smacking himself on the forehead. _It's not like there's anyplace to hide, Potter; it's a damned shower stall._

"Oh I'm still upstairs," she replied easily. "I called in a favor from Katie. There's so much ambient magic in the castle that she can do some weird voodoo thing and tap into it for short periods. She owes me for setting her up with Glik. Dude's a snake, but oh my word the things he can do with that tongue . . ."

"Thandie," Harry growled out, his startlement being replaced by his anger at those that had sent him back. "I'm not really in the mood to talk about the sex skills of the immortals. I am in the mood to find out what the hell the big idea is sending me back to _here._ "

Thandie sighed deeply, which when heard coming from every direction around you was very odd. "Yeah, sorry about that, Champ. The Sisters made a slight . . . miscalculation."

"Miscalculation?! Is that what you call this?!" Harry exploded. "One day. One minor, trivial, insignificant _fucking_ day and I could have stopped so much bullshit! A Death Eater disguised as my DADA professor. The whole world except for Hermione hating me. Having to fight a bloody dragon!"

"That's not even the worst of it." If a disembodied voice could cringe, Thandie's surely would have. "Crap. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

"What the fuck do you mean that's not the worst of it?!" Harry bellowed.

"Well . . . the Sisters were so excited to get you to agree . . . and . . . well . . . we were in such a hurry to get you back down there . . . that we might have . . . skipped over a couple of things, and . . . wwwwweeeeeeeellllll . . . so it's like this, Champ. You know you can't kill a ghost, right? Well, it's the same for disembodied spirits. So you . . . sorta . . . kinda . . . have to let Riddle get a body again before you can kill him."

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Harry said derisively, pantomiming putting his hand to his ear as if he was trying to hear better. "I know I must have misheard, because it sounded like you said I had to let the sadistic, ridiculously deadly, sociopathic asshole who literally is out for my blood get a body again."

"That about sums it up, yeah."

"And you couldn't tell me this _before?!_ " Harry closed his eyes and ground his teeth together to keep the rest of the scathing retort he wanted to say inside. He took a couple of deep breaths before he responded further. "What about the little body he's in now?"

"Sorry, Champ. Technically his homunculus body isn't alive; it's a construct. Aside from the potion that keeps it stable it has no other biological functions. It doesn't eat, doesn't breathe, doesn't grow. It's really just an animated Horcrux, all things considered. Like that creepy Chucky doll thing. Anyway, the ritual that you had the unfortunate pleasure of participating in is what truly constructed him a body with life. That has to take place, and unless you want him rampaging around again you should plan on trying to take him out as soon after that as humanly possible."

Harry let himself slide down the shower wall and wrapped his arms around his knees with his head buried against them. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUCK!" he finally screamed into his legs. "So let me see if I've got this right. I still need to do the tournament; binding magical contract and all, not that they explained what the penalty was."

"No one knows. No one has declined the Goblet's choosing for centuries, and the glyphs that say there's a contract don't say what the penalty is, so it's been lost to history. Could be a Stinging Hex. Could be a minute long _Cruciatus_. It could just kill you outright."

"And they let _that_ thing choose the champions? These people are insane." Harry pondered a moment before he shrugged resignedly. "Not sure why I'm surprised." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Whatever. So, tournament. Need to do that. Need to keep Barty Junior around, since having him caught might spook Voldemort, and you're saying I need to let him get a body again. Need to train up, since it sounds like the graveyard is the best place to try and kill him, and aforementioned sociopathic asshole is going to have all his sub-assholes around too, so that'll be a fun time. Need to convince the world that I'm not a glory-seeking prick, if only to make things easier while doing all the _other_ stuff. Need to figure out how to get off the grounds to get the other Horcruxes. Please tell me there's nothing stopping me from destroying them."

"Yeah . . . about that . . ."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Again, if a voice could wince Thandie's just did. "Once he has a body, yes, he won't notice if you destroy a Horcrux. But as a demented Teddy Ruxpin he's still technically a wraith, and that makes him much more in tune with his soul since it's really the only thing of him left."

"Just how much shit _did_ you all hide in the fine print? So I can't just destroy the Horcruxes as I collect them, right? I have to wait until he has a body or risk him figuring out what's going on?"

"'Fraid so."

"I should have just stayed fucking dead."

Harry tilted his head back until it was resting against the wall and closed his eyes. A myriad of images passed through his mind, but after a bit they focused on a certain brown-haired witch and the ultimate reason why he had come back. This newfound sensation that had started when he'd seen her just reinforced his already long-held belief; that his pain was worth it to prevent hers. It was the bargain he had made, and one he would make every time. His eyes reopened, and the same fire they held when he decided to travel back in time and try to fix things was there once again. "Okay, pity party's over. I can't really say I'm happy about all of this; to be honest I'd love nothing more right now than to come back up there and beat all of you about the head and chest with a stick. That being said, and despite how angry I am, I honestly can't really say I wish I hadn't agreed at all, or that I'd shown up later. Everything would still be buggered for everyone for the first one, and a lot more people would be dead in the latter. Showing up sooner would have been nice because I could have skipped the whole tournament thing and focused on Voldemort." Suddenly a terrible thought came to him, one that was perfectly in line with his current streak of luck. "Is this really as far back as they could send me?"

"I'm . . . not sure I should answer that."

"So, no." A growl formed deep in Harry's throat and he didn't even try to stop it from coming out. "I'm going to kill 'em. Not sure how, since they're immortal and all, but I'll figure something out."

"I already thought about that, Champ. And while I like a good revenge story as much as the next girl, I need you to focus on the tasks at hand," Thandie said. "Yes, all of that are your responsibilities and liabilities, and yes it seems we missed a few of the big-ticket items when we asked you to do this. But hey; Diggory is still alive, as are Sirius and Remus. You should get a hold of those two to help you out as much as they can without letting them in on the whole 'mostly dead' thing. Play your cards right and you can potentially catch Pettigrew and get Sirius exonerated.

"Also, without the Horcrux in your head you're going to notice a few things. I think you've already discovered that your eyesight is better." Harry nodded, though it seemed silly to him to nod to a disembodied voice. "The magical pressure it was exerting must have been messing with your optic nerves or something like that. Just spell your glasses to plain glass to keep people from asking questions. Or say you got contacts. Also, since the Horcrux was parasitical, you should also notice a slight increase in the power of your spells and ease of casting. Noticeable, but nothing major. Like I told you, you're no Superman. And, though I'm loathe to say anything nice about that bullying douche canoe, Snape's Occlumency lessons, while failing spectacularly at their intended purpose, were nonetheless brilliant."

"What?"

"Since a piece of Riddle was already in your head, Occlumency was never going to really help," Thandie said. "However, Snape's brute force attacks did help you build up your defenses quickly and strongly. You could just never bring them to bear with the Horcrux jammed in your skull; doesn't matter how thick walls are if there's already a hole in them. But I'd go out on a limb and say you're probably one of the top 10 Occlumens in the world now. And with all the crap you know, that's definitely a good thing.

"I know there's a ton of shit to shovel ahead of you, kid, but there's a lot of fun you can have with this too if you let yourself. Let the son of Prongs out to play a little. And don't think I missed that semi-flirty little tête-à-tête you had with your girl earlier."

Thinking about Hermione made him smile for a moment, before realizing that his 20 minutes were more than likely up. He sighed resignedly as he stood back up. "Okay, time to get to it. Anything else for the good of the order, Thandie?"

"One last thing for now. Last time Hermione found a book talking about magical contracts when she was trying to figure out a way to get you out of the tournament. There might be something in there that can help you with at least one of your problems."

"Like what?"

"Like go read the fucking book and find out for yourself," she answered with a chuckle. "Adios, Champ. I'll try to get in touch again if I'm able."

{-}

"Thirty-four minutes," Hermione said in her 'playful bossy' tone of voice when Harry finally made it downstairs. "Honestly, Harry, what took so long?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Harry quipped back while waggling his eyebrows. "I offered to let you help, you just huffed at me. Four hands would have made things go a lot faster." He couldn't hold it in any longer and started laughing at the gobsmacked expression on her face.

"When did you get such a dirty mind, Harry Potter?" she asked with a light slap to the chest, though there was no heat in her voice.

"Well I am a teenage boy," he answered back quickly. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

Hermione just stared at him, again trying to line up the boy she expected with the one that was in front of her. _He's trying to mask his apprehension about the tournament_ she finally thought to herself. _Keep things light and think about other stuff. It makes sense, but just something seems . . . off._ Shaking her head, she jumped back to the conversation. "Well, are you ready now?"

"Lead on, MacDuff," Harry said with a smile. He had taken two steps before he realized Hermione wasn't following, so he turned back around. "Hermione? What's wrong?" He was a bit disconcerted by the scrutinizing look she was giving him.

"Nothing," she finally answered. "It's just . . . that's something my father always says."

Harry thought he did a really good job with his poker face. She had told him that it was something her father had always said, that's why he knew the phrase at all, having never read Shakespeare. However, he inwardly cringed as he remembered that the first and only time she had mentioned it was during their country-wide apparition tour during the hunt. He hadn't pursued it at the time because her parents had still been a raw subject. Cursing himself for his slip, he tried to cover. "Huh. Weird." _Smooth, Potter. Simply stunning comeback._ "Are we going, or are you going to stare oddly at me all day?"

Harry was thankful Hermione took the bait on the change in subject, and side by side they made their way out to the grounds. As the hours of the day passed the two friends covered many topics. They started, per Hermione's insistence, on preparations for the First Task. He mentioned to her how Crouch has said the task would test their daring and courage, and so they started coming up with lists of things to practice. Harry, knowing that almost none of the list would be useful fighting a dragon, nonetheless contributed greatly, thinking that a good portion of the list _would_ be useful against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Meanwhile, he started working through his own ideas for how he would tackle the task. Using his Firebolt had been a good idea and had certainly put on a show, but Harry was curious to see if he could come up with anything more . . . Marauder-worthy.

Speaking of the Marauders, their next agenda item was letters to Remus and Sirius, explaining what was going on and asking the men to give them a date when they could all meet in the Shrieking Shack to discuss everything. Harry almost lost it when Hedwig fluttered down in front of him as he finished the second letter, as per usual somehow knowing her companion needed her. The last time he'd seen her she was tumbling out of the sky, dead in her cage from a Killing Curse, and of course 'The Bill,' as he was starting to call the flashes from his previous life, showed him the moment in vivid detail. Her staring at him, whole and hale, was almost more than his already stretched emotional state could take. He spent a long time petting her and cooing at her, much to the owl's pleasure and Hermione's continued consternation on the oddities in his behavior.

After Hedwig was off to deliver the letters, Hermione wanted to discuss the possibility of getting him out of the tournament entirely. Remembering Thandie saying that something in a book Hermione had found previously might help with something else, he encouraged this thought process and suggested they try looking for books about magical contracts in the Library. Adding it to her list, which by now had become rather extensive, Hermione also said she would see if there was any information on the previous tournaments in the Library. Perhaps she could identify patterns in the tasks that might give them some insight into what to expect.

The largest part of the afternoon, however, was spent just enjoying each other's company, with them trading random questions about each other back and forth. Harry was not surprised at Hermione's favorite color being periwinkle blue, remembering how stunning she looked in her Yule Ball dress of that color. He was floored, however, learning that her favorite type of music was modern rock and her favorite band was the American rock group Nine Inch Nails. They had just released their second album the previous Spring, and Hermione had listened to it almost religiously the entire summer. She admitted it was a guilty pleasure, the lyrics both 'naughty' (her word) and thought provoking to her. Her parents (whose names were Henry and Catherine, he finally learned), however, had _not_ appreciated their fourteen-year-old daughter listening to a song with the phrase ' _I wanna fuck you like an animal'_ in it.

The more the two of them talked the more 'real' Hermione became to Harry. She'd always been his friend, but now in his eyes she was becoming so much more. She had hopes, dreams, fears, aspirations, flaws . . . all of the things that make a person who they are. And he found himself drawn to every little piece of information about her she was willing to divulge, gathering it up like a Niffler would gold. He laughed with her when she told him the story of accidentally pushing her father into a swimming pool when she was ten. He held her as she cried describing the last days of her grandmother's life, loved ones gathered around the family matriarch as she had breathed her last. He watched as she spoke animatedly about a whole range of topics, from family to movies to music to books to whatever random topic Harry could think of to ask about.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and as the dinner hour approached they discussed whether they should try to have it in the Great Hall or continue hiding away from the world. The first time through he had avoided the public areas of the school like they were leper colonies those first few days after the Goblet had spit out his name. This time, however, he was a bit interested in getting the lay of the land, to see what kind of reaction he was really up against. He hadn't interacted with anyone the last go around until classes the following day, where teachers were much more observant and comments curtailed. Though professors were always present at meals they were more freeform, allowing for a much more . . . varied experience than sitting in class. Unless someone started screaming, threw a punch, or drew a wand, generally the staff didn't get involved in conversations or altercations that took place during meals. A quick discussion with Hermione, though, convinced Harry that perhaps it would be better to keep a low profile for a few days until the furor of the champion selection had died down a bit. With that in mind, and though he knew he would have to endure a S.P.E.W.-ing moment, Harry took Hermione's hand and led her down to the entrance to the kitchens, explaining his knowledge of its location as 'Fred and George were tricked into telling me.' It was a half-truth, since it was actually Hermione who had tricked them, and he had only overheard.

Po-TAY-to. Po-TAH-to.

As predicted, once inside he listened patiently through a 10 minute diatribe in 'super-high-end bossy' about 'the plight of these poor suffering beings' before he put his hands on Hermione's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped dead at the look Harry was giving her. It wasn't the one she had seen from him first thing this morning, and it wasn't any of the others she was used to. This was again something completely different, and as before made her wonder just what was going on with her best friend.

"Hermione, I understand and appreciate everything that you are saying. The enslavement of an entire race of beings is definitely wrong, you'll find no argument from me on that. That being said, have you actually _talked_ to any elves? Asked them why they serve? Why they enjoy it so much? Do they consider it slavery? You know the Malfoys are an entire family of reprobates; have you asked the elves if they're all treated like Dobby? It's obvious the ones here in the castle aren't, so percentage-wise the evidence points to Dobby's case not being the norm. Neville isn't evil, right?" Hermione immediately shook her head no. "Have you asked if the Longbottoms have ever had any elves? What about Susan Bones? Her aunt is the head of Magical Law Enforcement. Surely if it was evil she wouldn't condone it. And what about Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or _Sprout_ for that matter, the queen of fair play? They obviously know these elves are here and are obviously okay with it; what does that mean?" Hermione's lower lip disappeared between her teeth as her brows scrunched in consternation; she hadn't really given a whole lot of thought to the 'why' of the matter, merely the 'what.' It was a common mistake people made, and one she tried very hard to avoid. But she'd seen what she classed as an injustice (and she still wasn't convinced it wasn't) and had jumped forward like the Gryffindor she was. Harry gave her a moment before speaking again, doing so as if he could almost read her mind. "I'm not sure why the relationship between elves and wizardkind is the way it is. Maybe it's a curse or compulsion; 'serve or die' or something like that. I'm told magical contracts aren't something to be messed with," he said with a smirk, referencing his own situation to reinforce his point. "Maybe it's symbiotic; elves pull from the ambient magic of wizards and witches to power their own, like some wards do. Without wizards they'd be powerless, or maybe even dead, so they see service as a price to be paid for their magic. Maybe it's just how their brains are wired; 'I live to serve' might be more than just a cliché to them. Hell, for all I know they could be an entire race of submissives and cooking meals and washing clothes is how they get off." Despite her admonition of 'Language,' Hermione had to snort in amusement at that last one, and Harry's smile showed that he had put that last one in there to try and lighten the mood.

"So you're saying the entirety of the wizarding world could be nothing but a bunch of closet dominatrixes?" she asked with a smile.

"Well, _Mistress_ ," Harry responded with a waggle of his eyebrows, causing Hermione to blush slightly, "personally I'd prefer to be called a dominator since I don't have the right bits to be a dominatrix."

"Fair enough," she chuckled back.

"Seriously, though," he continued, "maybe a little bit of research and investigation is needed before we start crying out about the injustice of it all. If we do that and it turns out that they're bought and sold just like cattle, I'll be right next to you crying foul. Okay?"

Hermione nodded her head. "Okay, Harry."

"Good. Now let's eat. _Someone_ dropped my breakfast in bed on the floor this morning, and then talked my ear off all afternoon, so I'm famished." As soon as he was done speaking, Harry turned and moved farther into the room.

"Why you cheeky little . . ." Hermione retorted, but with no heat at all. She wasn't sure what was going on with Harry, why he was behaving so oddly, and she vowed she would keep an eye on him to try and figure it out. However, provided there was nothing sinister behind his change in behavior, like Polyjuice or a Pod Person, she decided that she rather enjoyed this more engaging and ebullient Harry Potter.

* * *

A/N: It's messing with my head a bit that I now have a 3rd story with a shower scene in it. I swear it's not a fetish or anything.

Though the most common penalty in fanfiction for refusing the Goblet seems to be the loss of one's magic, I don't think it's ever explicitly said in canon what the penalty is.

Harry swears a lot. A lot of my characters swear a lot. I swear a lot. It's the primary reason my stories are rated M. Studies (yes I know studies can be dodgy) have shown a correlation between swearing and intelligence/breadth of vocabulary. In this case, however, I think Harry just has every reason to swear, given the situation.

If anyone's keeping track: Katie = Hecate and Glick = Glykon. Look him up and you'll get it.

For those of you who have never seen the movie _Child's Play_ , it's downright effing terrifying. Or at least it was; not sure if it's translated 30 years removed.

I remember my uncle buying my grandmother a Teddy Ruxpin doll as a joke. And I remember that thing creeping me out because it would randomly start talking when no one was anywhere near it. Or, at least, I think I do; it might have just been a nightmare. Anyway, again look it up and I hope you're amused with it as a comparison to Babymort.

 _The Downward Spiral,_ Nine Inch Nails' second album, was released in March of 1994. The song referenced is called "Closer."

Pod Person is from _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ if you've never heard the term before.

"Third Year Pearson" might become at thing. We'll see.

As always, thank you all for the follows, favorites, views, and reviews.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Revelations, Retaliations, Reintroductions, Reaffirmations, and a Strawberry

A tired Albus Dumbledore tossed and turned restlessly as he tried to sleep, unable to drift off in what he had always thought was a very comfortable bed. The barrage of events through the last couple of days, however, would not let him find the peace he needed to rest his 100+ year old bones. Harry's suspect entrance into the Triwizard Tournament had been a body blow. After the stress and strain of Harry's first three years at Hogwarts, combined with the debacle that had come the night of the Quidditch World Cup, Albus had very much hoped to give the young man a restful year where he could simply enjoy his studies and watch what would hopefully be exciting but safe (well, compared to previous tournaments) exhibitions of intellect, bravery, and of course magic. It was one of the reasons why he had pushed so forcefully for the rule only allowing of-age participants; given what Harry had already accomplished by fourteen he wasn't entirely sure that the Goblet would pick anyone else as the Hogwarts Champion should he put his name in the running. Of course, in retrospect Albus should have known that Harry would never want the kind of notoriety being chosen would bring, and somewhere deep down that he wouldn't yet admit to he also knew that he should have expected his best laid plans to, as the Muggles say, go tits up. Harry's name coming out of the Goblet, and the subsequent reaction of nearly everyone in attendance, was only the tip of the trouble iceberg, however. Sunday morning he had gone to warm his late morning tea and discovered something even more puzzling, disconcerting, and, if he was honest with himself, borderline terrifying.

He was no longer the master of the Elder Wand.

The vaunted Deathstick had been his for nearly 50 years, won from his former closest friend and partner, the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald. Aside from Gellert himself, who had spent the intervening years locked in Nurmengard Prison, no one was privy to that information, and Albus had always intended for it to stay that way until his death, hopefully breaking the power and the curse that the Hallow held. It was one of the reasons why he had taken to the sidelines so much during the first war; he could not risk the Elder Wand falling into the enemy's hands, particularly Voldemort's. Should Tom have taken mastery of it, with his already prodigious strength, knowledge, and talent, it would have spelled disaster. Even without it he had almost succeeded, stopped only by the loving sacrifice of Lily Potter for her infant son.

In between fielding Floo calls from the Ministry, mostly complaints about the debacle that had happened on Halloween, he had racked his brain trying to figure out how he had been stripped of mastery over the fabled wand. As far as he knew, the only way to lose the wand's allegiance was to be defeated in martial conflict, and unless senility had finally started taking hold he certainly hadn't gotten into any duels since Saturday night (though there had been one or two close calls based on some of the conversations he'd had through the Floo). He admitted to himself, however, that the true nature of the Peverell wand was a mystery; it was possible some other force was at work that had seen him no longer in command of the Deathstick. He had tried to go to sleep Sunday evening but his mind would not stop creating and discounting possibilities as to what might have happened, and so Monday morning found him no more rested than when he had laid down his head.

As the headmaster prepared for the coming day, he did manage to make one decision, though. Regardless of the circumstances, the original goal of keeping the Elder Wand from another's hand was still both viable and necessary in his eyes. He came down the stairs from his quarters to his office and wove an intricate set of symbols in the air with (no longer) his wand in front of the case that held the fabled Sword of Gryffindor. As he finished the display tilted out of the way, revealing a small alcove with a single item; a long, thin box. Withdrawing it reverently, he sat at his desk and opened it. There, just as he'd left it, was his first wand, the one that had chosen him in the Summer of 1892 before he had left for Hogwarts as an 11-year-old boy. Though more than a century had now passed you wouldn't know it to behold the item; its highly polished surface gleamed in the morning sunlight as it had the day Gerbold Ollivander, Garrick's grandfather, had placed it in his hand. He took the wand from the box and immediately felt the warmth of it, like reuniting with a long-lost friend. Albus smiled as he placed the wand into the pocket of his robes before placing the Elder Wand in its place within the box on the table. Closing it once again, he replaced the box in the hidden space and re-wove his protection spells to ensure that it would take someone exceedingly determined, knowledgeable, and clever to gain access to the dangerous artifact.

Or so he believed.

{-}

As soon as curfew was lifted Monday morning Harry and Hermione found themselves in the same place they had been until just before curfew started the previous evening; a secluded corner of the Library pouring over different books. Hermione was convinced that she could find a way for him to withdraw from the tournament, and so she was currently engrossed in _The Binding Magic of Oaths, Vows, Pacts, and Contracts_. For his part Harry was perusing interestedly through _The Big Book of BOOM!_ , a useful if childishly titled book that had different high power, large area of effect, or a combination thereof, spells. Most of them were combat oriented, but there were a few for things like mining or building demolition that might also prove to be quite handy. _You never know when you might need to drop a building on someone_ Harry thought to himself as he studied the wand movements for _Aedificium Destruere_. Since all Harry was interested in was what a spell did and how to cast it (theory would do him no good against a dragon, or Voldemort for that matter), it was more up his alley than the cerebral read Hermione had in front of her. It also helped that the author appeared to _really_ enjoy blowing stuff up; though the name was wrong he couldn't help but wonder if he was somehow related to a certain set of redheaded twins with a similar penchant.

As the breakfast hour approached Hermione nearly slammed the book shut in frustration. "You'd think there'd be something in there about the Goblet of Fire, since it creates magical contracts, but there's nothing," she said in her rarely used 'Oh Books Why Have You Forsaken Me' tone.

"Anything good at all?" Harry asked, marking his place in his own tome before closing it. Hermione hated it when her books failed her, and she tended to get . . . well . . . bitchy about it if you didn't head her off. Having her change gears to describe what _was_ there allowed her to go off on an intellectual tangent that helped sooth the savage Hermione.

"Oh, there's plenty," she replied. "I was fascinated by the section on using blood magic as a binder, though it appears it has come to be used less and less as things like Unbreakable Vows came to prominence, not to mention there simply being better bookkeeping to make sure people don't renege on a deal. Contracts signed with Blood Quills appear to be the only type still in common usage." Harry's right eye twitched slightly at the mention of the hated implements, and he subconsciously rubbed the back of his hand where _I must not tell lies_ had been carved on the hand of his older self. "But nothing that can get you out of the tournament," she finished dejectedly and sunk her chin into her chest.

Harry nodded, knowing that she wouldn't find anything; if she had, he would have found out about it the first go-round. He hated making her spin her wheels like that, but to steer here away would arouse suspicion. Besides, Thandie had wanted him to get a look at whatever book and this was the easiest way to figure out which one he was supposed to grab. He stood, grabbing the small pile of books on the table before walking around the table and lifting her chin up with his off-hand. She looked up and he smiled at her, making sure she knew he did not blame her (or the books) for failing to find him an out. "I want to check a couple of these out to keep going over, so I'll put the rest back on my way to see Madam Pince. I'll meet you up front?"

"Sure, Harry," Hermione said with a small return smile, and she began to roll up her note-taking parchments and other stationery. Harry quickly put the books he wasn't keeping back, holding onto _Binding Magic_ and, of course, _BOOM!_. After checking them out with the Librarian he stuffed both into his bookbag before catching up to Hermione at the doors to the Library. Together, they headed down to the Great Hall and Harry's first interaction with the student body since his name had come out of the Goblet.

More than three years removed from the previous time he had done this, for the most part Harry had only vague recollections of specific events. What he could recall, though, was that the few weeks before the First Task, in his learned and humble opinion, sucked hot donkey bollocks. With the exception of Hermione the entire rest of the school either hated him, thought he was a cheat, was ambivalent towards him, or some combination thereof. As the two of them walked into the Great Hall, nearly all conversation ceased as heads turned toward the Gryffindor Punching Bag that was Harry Potter. He made a point to avoid looking at any particular person, and thankfully that meant that The Bill didn't come due with him standing there being gawked at. He unconsciously grabbed Hermione's hand and moved them both quickly to the closest end of the Gryffindor table; the faster they were in and ate the faster he could get the hell out of there and avoid any undo complications.

He almost made it.

He'd just shoved the last of a scone in his mouth after telling Hermione he would see her at Herbology, and was proceeding toward the doors when the very last person he wanted to encounter right then reared his perfectly coifed blond ferrety head.

"There you are, Potter," drawled Draco Malfoy. "We all thought you'd pissed yourself in fear and run off." He and the two golems that normally followed in his wake shared a loud, fake laugh at the comment, and as Harry kept walking out Malfoy continued. "What's the matter? Afraid to show your face now that you've cheated your way into the tournament? Realized that you're going to be nothing but a pathetic embarrassment in front of a world audience?" People closest to them at the house tables had turned to see, though as per usual none of the staff were making a move to interfere.

Harry stopped and half-turned, performing a quick visual appraisal at the strutting Slytherin that stood there practically preening in self-satisfaction. The Bill came due; the image of a pale and heavily bleeding Draco Malfoy lying on a bathroom floor, his blood pouring out of him from several long cuts and mixing with the water than was still pouring out of a broken toilet, floated in front of Harry's eyes. For a moment Harry felt his stomach drop again as it had when the incident had actually occurred; at the time he couldn't bring himself to believe that he very likely had just killed someone. There had been _so_ much blood; how had a seemingly simple schoolyard grudge escalated to a near-death experience?

As the milliseconds passed and the memory cleared, however, Harry came to a realization. First off, Draco had been about to hit him with an Unforgiveable Curse when Harry had hit him with that _Sectumsempra_. Second, if Draco had died that day he wouldn't have been able to fix the Vanishing Cabinet that brought the Death Eaters into Hogwarts; Hagrid wouldn't have had his hut burned down, Bill Weasley wouldn't have been mauled by Greyback and, most importantly, Dumbledore wouldn't have been killed that night. Maybe the old man could have given Harry more than vague clues and roundabout riddles to start his hunt. Maybe if Dumbledore had lived a bit longer the Ministry wouldn't have toppled like dominoes in a hurricane once Voldemort moved to take it over. Maybe he, Ron, and Hermione wouldn't have had to go on the run for almost a year, facing all of the shit that they'd had to go through. Maybes upon maybes upon maybes.

Draco had facilitated those maybes not coming to pass. He had lived, and continued with his plans, and had helped cause a hell of a lot of the troubles that Harry had gone through in the year before he'd been sent back. He had done it out of fear, sure, but it was a fear that he needn't have had if he'd just taken Dumbledore up on his offer of mercy. But he'd been a coward, and Dumbledore had died, and Britain had fallen into darkness. That belief, that Draco was a catalyst for much of the evil that had plagued his life before, was all Harry needed in order for The Bill of Draco Malfoy to be forever paid in his eyes.

 _Fuck this guy with a giant purple dick_ Harry thought to himself.

With a quiet snort that was part derision and part dismissal, Harry turned back and continued his way out of the Great Hall.

"I'm talking to you, Potter!" Draco roared, not used to being ignored by his chosen quarry, and he carried on after Harry as the other boy moved into the Entrance Hall. Crabbe and Goyle followed in his wake, and most of the other students suddenly rose from their benches, hoping to get front row seats for the (seemingly) inevitable confrontation. Draco, of course, saw none of this, having tunnel-visioned on Harry and his complete disregard for a properly directed insult. He finally caught up to his target as they were about to reach the main doors to the castle. "You think you're so high and mighty, don't you? Think you're somehow better than the rest of us now? Well I've got some news for you, Potter. You're nothing; a weak, unwanted half-blood orphan who isn't even worthy enough to shine the shoes of those of us with proper breeding." Seeing Harry still hadn't taken the bait, and finally noticing that a decent number of people were witnessing his failure, he fired one last salvo. "Enjoy what time you have left, Potter, because I'm going to bet heavily that you die horribly during the First Task, whimpering like a little bitch for your worthless Mudblood whore of a mother."

That brought Harry up short as his foot was about to take the first step down to the lawns. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears at the insult to his mum; it was so loud that he didn't hear the gasps from the assembled crowd at the vulgar and derogatory verbal attack against a woman who was generally regarded as both a war hero and a brilliant witch. He could feel The Monster rear up in his chest, wanting nothing more than to turn around and rend Draco into ferret pâté. It was a tempting proposition.

A younger Harry would have risen to the bait: would have turned and fired the first curse in retribution for Draco defaming Lily Potter, guaranteeing himself punishment and Malfoy the victory. He turned and looked back properly now, and upon seeing Hermione nearly frantic as she tried desperately to get to him through the crowd he asked himself what he thought she would do, or perhaps more accurately what would she want _him_ to do. Hermione was a genius and a bibliophile; words, both written and spoken, were her weapon of choice, and she could wield them as fiercely as any wand when she wanted to. Not that she was a slouch with a wand either. Or a fist, as Draco himself had found out in Third Year. She always hated when Harry went off without thinking; she had this thing where she would say 'use your words' when he was so angry that he couldn't formulate a thought, like he was a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. Which, in retrospect, hadn't been that far from the truth. The him-from-before would get pissed when she did that; this Harry knew that they might have been some of the wisest words he'd ever heard.

Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with it.

Harry turned, dropped his bag at the entrance doors, and walked over to the center of the throng of students that now held a supremely smug Draco. There was a logjam at the doors to the Great Hall, and Harry could hear a couple of the professors trying to work their way through the crowd to prevent an escalation. _Typical_ he thought. _When Draco is spouting his bullshit to anyone who will listen they act like nothing's going on. But one tiny inkling that I might yank out his small intestine through his nasal cavity in front of our international guests and they look to break it up._

The Slytherin instigator, for his part, believed that he couldn't lose here; everyone hated Potter right now, so he figured he could get away with saying literally anything and not face retribution. Even if he had possibly gone just a bit over the top with the comment about his dead mother it was fine; she was only a Mudblood anyway, and the opportunity to cow, humiliate, or discredit Potter when he was most vulnerable was too good to pass up. If Potter attacked him, he won and Potter fell even further from his pedestal. If he responded weakly, he still won as he would use it to showcase Potter as slow-witted and stupid. If he called for a teacher Draco could paint him as a little baby who needed a professor to save him. It was perfect; manna from heaven, or so he thought.

Harry saw Hermione struggling to get to him as he walked up to Draco, but she was still having trouble getting through people who wanted the best view possible when things kicked off and kept shoving her, and others who were jockeying for better spots, back into the crowd. He knew that she was looking to protect him from himself, just like she had with the Firebolt in Third Year and in trying to convince him not to go to the Ministry in Fifth; given his history that was an understandable reaction to the current situation. Her genuine and selfless concern for him, no matter how big of an idiot he was being, made him appreciate and care for her just a little bit more. _Enough mushy crap, there's ferret to roast. Metaphorically speaking, unfortunately._ Harry stopped mere inches from Draco and looked the other boy dead in the eyes. His head tilted left then right, as if examining a puzzle. And when Harry finally spoke it was at a normal volume, but because of the hush over the crowd he was heard by the entire group. "Listen you limp-dicked inbred oxygen thief. Even by the standards of _my_ life the last couple of days have been a shit show, and I just don't have the patience nor the inclination to deal with the bigoted asinine stupidity you try to pass off as witty repartee that constantly spews out of that cock holster on your face. So why don't you take Tweedle-dipshit and Tweedle-dumbass here," Harry said, indicating Crabbe and Goyle in turn, "find a nice quiet space and play an exciting game of Hide and Go Fuck Yourself. Okay?" Seeing the dumbfounded look on Malfoy's face, Harry simply patted him on the shoulder twice and said, "Good talk, buddy," before turning and heading out of the castle, picking up his bag along the way.

He only made it as far as the bottom step before Hermione appeared at his side, a look that seemed part admonishment, part disbelief, and part pride on her face. They walked for a time, exchanging brief furtive glances, before she broke the silence. "I really should wash your mouth out," she said to him, and as he looked over he could see her twisting her wand in her hand while trying to hide a smirk. "Such language."

"Awww Hermione, I thought you'd be proud of me. After all, I used my words," Harry replied, and he couldn't help but smile at the look she gave him; mouth open and a look that was part shock and part 'Oh no you didn't' on her face.

"What am I going to do about you and this cheeky streak you seem to have developed?" Hermione finally asked, shaking her head and trying to look stern; it was hard when the corners of her mouth kept turning up as she fought a smile.

She'd fallen right into it, and it was too good of an opportunity to pass up on a double entendre. "Well, Mistress, if I'm being a bad boy you could always try giving me a spanking."

"Harry James!" she scolded as he started laughing and took off toward the greenhouses, an also mirthful Hermione hot on his heals, spewing half-hearted admonitions at him.

{-}

Harry liked Wednesdays. They had the practical portion of Astronomy Tuesday nights, and so the first period on Wednesdays was left open for the Fourth Year Gryffindors so they could catch up on sleep if they needed to. His only class of the day was a single period of Charms and then he was free again the rest of the day. Harry and Hermione had taken the opportunity of the free morning period to visit the kitchens again; Hermione because she was still trying to wrap her brain around the mindset of house elves and Harry because he needed to 'find out' a particular piece of information in a way that didn't make Hermione suspicious, and since the elves had told him once it made sense for them to tell him again. He shook himself back from his musings as Hermione asked the same question for perhaps the twelfth time since Sunday.

"But why would anyone _want_ to be a servant?" she'd almost whined to Jammy, the oldest, and thus most senior, elf in the castle.

"Why is wizards and witches not wanting to serve?" Jammy responded easily, which had been her response the first eleven times as well.

"Because it's wrong!" Hermione replied emphatically.

"Why?" Jammy asked calmly.

"Because no sentient being should be enslaved!"

"Why?"

"Because you should be able to choose what you want to do with your life."

"Yes," Jammy said, and Hermione brightened, thinking she'd finally made a breakthrough. It didn't last long. "We's choose to serve." Hermione groaned and dropped her head onto the table with a loud _thud._ Harry looked at Jammy and had to do a double-take when he saw what could only be a small smirk on the elf's face. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn that Jammy was just fucking with Hermione now.

"Jammy," Harry started, pulling them out of the spiraling conversation that had still not gotten Hermione the answers that she wanted. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"Anything, sir."

"I need a place to train for the tournament. Someplace out of the way and hidden, since I don't want other people to see what I'll be practicing. Do you know of a place like that?"

Jammy smiled. "Oh, yes indeed sir. Yous can be using the Come and Go Room." Hermione's head shot up at the mention.

" _Hogwarts: A History_ doesn't say anything about a Come and Go Room."

"Doesn't mention house elves either, does it?" Harry quipped. Hermione gave him a dirty look.

The elf just shrugged. "That's what the elfs call it. It's on the seventh floor in the corridor with the tapestry of the wizard that be trying to teach the trolls to dance."

"I know that corridor," Harry said. "There's no door there," he finished, trying to keep up appearances.

"Oh, the room only be showing up when you ask for it, that's why the elfs be calling it the Come and Go Room. Yous has to walks back and forth in front of the wall across from the dancing trolls three times and ask for whats type of room yous need. Then the door be showing up and yous can go inside."

"Are you sure, Jammy?" Hermione asked. "That sounds . . . implausible."

"No, it sounds like magic," Harry jibed, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "Thank you for the information, Jammy. I'm sure it will come in handy."

"Yous being welcome, sir. But it almost being time for us to begin gettings lunch ready."

"Of course, Jammy. We'll let you get back to work."

As the two teens left the kitchens Hermione looked forlorn. "I just can't seem to convince them that they shouldn't be slaves," she said morosely.

"Hermione, it's their culture, their psychology, something that's been an integral part of their race probably for centuries," Harry responded as they walked up the stairs. "Humans can't stand being slaves; elves can't stand being free. It's just how they're wired, it would seem. And, just like you'll find maybe one human in a million who actually might want to be a slave, in this case you get Dobby. You're making the mistake of assigning human values to non-humans." Hermione kept her head down as she processed what Harry was saying. As they reached the Entrance Hall and the bell rang signaling the morning break, she blew out a long breath.

"That all makes a lot of sense," she admitted. Another long sigh followed. "I suppose you're right, Harry. I just . . . I hope that they're all treated as well as the ones here seem to be."

"I'm sure they're not," Harry stated matter-of-factly, thinking of Kreacher, and continuing quickly at Hermione's appalled look (since he wasn't supposed to know about any other house elves) he explained. "Well, we already know about Dobby. Think about what other families own house elves for the most part. Old Purebloods, like the Malfoys and the Blacks. Sure, the Longbottoms have one as well, but aren't most of the old families . . . well . . . evil?"

"About half of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are considered Dark families," Hermione responded, digging back into the incredible memory of hers. "Of the rest, the Gaunts don't exist anymore; the last one I think died in Azkaban a while ago. The Prewetts died out in Britain when Mrs. Weasley's brothers were killed in the First War. There are a couple of what would probably be neutral families, like the Crouches, who we know didn't mistreat but certainly didn't seem to care about Winky, and the Greengrasses, who I don't really know but I've heard they have more progressive views on Muggles and Muggleborn than the Dark families."

"Right. So maybe, instead of looking for freedom for the elves, which they don't seem to want, you should be trying to make sure they're treated well." Hermione considered Harry's words as they continued walking, and he figured his tasks for the morning both a success; he'd found out about the Room of Requirement and he'd turned Hermione toward a path with S.P.E.W. that might actually have a snowball's chance in Hell of accomplishing something.

{-}

After they'd gone to Charms and lunch Hermione had Arithmancy, and since Harry had promised her he wouldn't explore the Come and Go Room without her and had no desire to work on homework he was wandering aimlessly throughout the castle. Doing so brought him in contact with a person he couldn't believe he'd forgotten about, and made a point to avoid such an egregious oversight in the future. If anyone aside from Hermione would believe he hadn't entered himself in the Tournament, it was the person in front of him.

"Hello, Harry Potter," came a melodic voice attached to long blond hair and what he knew were big bright silvery eyes, though he currently couldn't see them. The girl was standing on a bench in an alcove with her head pressed against the window, as if she was trying to figure out what it would be like to be a part of the castle looking down upon the grounds. Nothing in her posture indicated that she was startled by his approach, just like she had somehow known who was behind her by some power that Harry couldn't grasp. Still, he couldn't help but smile.

"Hello, Luna Lovegood," he answered as he walked up to stand near her. She spun immediately and before he could react smacked both of her hands hard against the sides of his face and held his head steady with them, staring down at him as if he were a particularly entertaining but elusive puzzle. Harry's eyes got wide as his cheeks stung and Luna moved her head around, examining him from multiple angles.

"How do you know who I am?" she finally asked.

"How do you know who _I_ am?" he responded immediately, his brain still trying to catch up with what was happening to him.

"Everyone knows who you are, Harry Potter" Luna answered. "But no one knows who I am," she whispered, no trace of her usual airiness present for once.

Harry's vision was filled with memories of Luna; a girl sitting alone on the train. Singed and scratched but determined in the Department of Mysteries. Searching the hallways for her stolen property that had been taken by bullying housemates. Dirty, battered, and bruised in the basement of Malfoy Manor. He didn't know if he was breaking some cosmic rule or how he would explain what he was about to do if someone asked, but he knew what he needed to say. "I do," he said firmly as his hands reached up to take hers gently. "You're Luna Lovegood. You're a Third Year Ravenclaw. You live in a house that looks like a chess rook. Your father Xenophilius owns and edits The Quibbler. Your mother Pandora passed away when you were nine. You miss her every day." He stared softly into the girl's eyes, which despite their 'permanently surprised' appearance were now wider than he'd ever seen them. He moved her hands from his face and onto his shoulders and held his hands up to her hips, as it seemed as if a simple breath could push her over. "You believe in creatures even more fantastic than the ones Newt Scamander found when he traveled the world; creatures so incredible that, to the rest of us, they seem unbelievable. I can't tell you if I believe in them too, Luna, but what I do know is that I believe in _you_." That seemed to be the girl's breaking point, and he caught her as her legs gave out. He sat her gently on the bench and knelt in front of her, her hands still on his shoulders. "You have friends, Luna Lovegood. Friends who care about you. Friends that will defend you. Friends that will fight for you." He more gently replicated her opening action by placing his hands on her cheeks. "You. Are. Not. Alone."

"Friends . . ." she whispered as tears filled her eyes. In the three years he had known her previously, in all of the shit that she had gone through, Harry had never seen so much as a single tear from her. Now they flowed like a river as her eyes continued to dart around his face; even with the apparent emotional overload she was still trying to figure out the seeming enigma in front of her. _Just like a Ravenclaw_ Harry thought to himself. She stopped and pulled her head back slightly. "Who _are_ you?"

Harry smiled. "You said it yourself. I'm Harry Potter. And I'm your friend." He moved his hands to her elbows and pulled lightly, and she went without resistance, wrapping her arms around Harry and hugging him for all she was worth.

"Hello, my friend," she whispered and, in another first, Harry heard Luna giggle as her head rested on his shoulder.

{-}

Harry and Hermione took their now customary place at the very end of the Gryffindor table Thursday morning and, again as had become their habit, began quickly filling their plates with the intention of escaping the stares and none-too-subtle whispers as soon as possible. This morning, though, threw an unexpected but welcome spanner in the works as Luna came over from the Ravenclaw table and sat down next to Harry. Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, as Harry hadn't mentioned his impromptu heart-to-heart with the lithe little Ravenclaw. He quickly swallowed his bite of eggs before speaking. "Hermione Granger, this is my friend Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is my best friend Hermione."

"Hello, Hermione Granger," Luna began as she began picking all of the blueberries out of the fruit salad on the table. "It would seem that for once the Wrackspurts have decided to be helpful and told Harry all about me. I'm very glad they did; it's nice to have a friend."

Hermione blinked several times rapidly, trying to process what she'd been told. "Hello, Luna, it's very nice to meet you," she said, remembering her manners. "I'm sorry . . . Wrackspurts?"

"Oh yes. Normally they just make your brain go all fuzzy, but I have a newly formed theory based on my meeting Harry yesterday. It would seem that if a swarm of them buzz through your ears long enough they actually pick up some information about you. If they then swarm another person they can pass that information along. It's very fascinating, really; Daddy didn't know that they could do that. He's even going to print a special issue so that we can be the first people to report on it."

Hermione continued to blink and her head twitched slightly a few times before she turned to Harry, who attempted to explain. "Luna and her father are rather . . . unique and . . . unconventional magizoologists. They have documented a bunch of new creatures but are having trouble getting traction because everyone considers _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ the end-all, be-all guide to magical creatures." Harry looked intently at Hermione, trying to convey his thoughts of _Just go with it_. Thankfully she seemed to understand.

"I . . . see . . ." Hermione said cautiously. "That sounds . . . really fascinating Luna. Are you thinking about making a career out of it?"

"Perhaps," the blond answered, popping a few more blueberries into her mouth. "It would be a lot of travel and take me away from Daddy a lot, though I believe it would be very rewarding in the long run. By I have a number of years before I have to decide on things like that."

"Very true," Hermione responded, seemingly surprised at the well thought out response from someone who seemed so . . . something. "Can I take from you sitting here that you also believe that Harry didn't enter himself into the Tournament?"

"Of course I believe him. He's my friend; if he says he didn't do it, then he didn't do it."

"Wish some other people thought that way," Harry grumbled, shooting an angry glance down the table.

Only to fight the urge to reel back in shock as Luna unceremoniously shoved a strawberry in his slightly open mouth. "You shouldn't mumble aspersions about other people, Harry, it attracts umgubular slashkilters. Thankfully they're repelled by red foods, so you should be safe for now."

Harry just nodded his head and chewed on his strawberry. Hermione looked as if a Dementor had just goosed her at the display.

Luna popped the last blueberry from the bowl in front of her into her mouth and then looked at the rest of the fruit present with a forlorn look on her face. It morphed into a smile when Harry Summoned another bowl of fruit from farther down the table and she began eating all the blueberries again. Hermione's look at him was answered only with a smile. The older girl's eyes moved back and forth between the two a moment longer before, with a sigh and a shrug, she returned to her own breakfast.

{-}

Harry and Hermione spent most of that weekend in the Room of Requirement where, after Hermione's repeated comments about the magic that must have been necessary to create the construct, they got down to the business of working to prepare for the 'unknown' First Task. Hermione was quick with her praise as Harry, 'amazingly,' was able to perform a good number of the spells on their list after only a few 'failed' attempts; of course, she didn't know that the spells he'd gotten down quickly were the ones he already knew. Harry, for his part, felt like a fraud for deceiving Hermione like that, but was also very proud of her because, even without the 2+ years of further magical education he had, she was able to cast many of those same spells after a bit of practice as well.

He was also finding it increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. It being a weekend they were in street clothes instead of their uniforms, and as the training session on Sunday had progressed to practice dueling Hermione had shed her jumper. The thin pink t-shirt underneath had then begun to cling to her as they both perspired from their efforts, and Harry was having a very hard time keeping his gaze from lingering. Once or twice he was sure he'd been caught, only for Hermione to not make mention of anything and continue with the lessons.

The week he'd spent alone with Hermione, except for the few instances where Luna had joined them either for meals or in the Library, had cemented something deeply into his brain. That night in the Forest of Dean, when Ron had returned and destroyed the Horcrux in the Locket, both boys had seen the ethereal representations of Harry and Hermione entwine with one another and share a passionate kiss. Harry, in order to placate Ron, had told the other boy that it was a lie presented by the Horcrux to deceive him and drive a wedge between them. Harry had stated emphatically that he'd always loved Hermione like a sister.

He could finally admit to himself that his statement was, if not before certainly now, unquestionably and unequivocally a steaming crock of shit.

He'd had a thing for Hermione since right about this time the first go-round, when she had stood by his side and solidified a permanent place in his life and his heart. But he was so socially awkward when it came to the fairer sex, so completely clueless about life, the universe, and everything, mostly because of his upbringing, that he hadn't even been able to properly qualify how he felt. And if The Sisters were to be believed having the Horcrux along for the ride hadn't helped. He'd felt himself entranced by women like Cho, Ginny, and to a lesser extent Fleur, latching onto the idea that infatuation and physical attraction must also mean emotional attraction. Not that Hermione wasn't pretty; her appearance at the Ball next month would prove that beyond any doubt. She just usually hid her potential underneath her bushy hair, baggy robes, and mountain of books. But those other three took the effort and had been/were/would be ( _goddamned time travel_ ) truly breathtaking, and stupid him-from-before hadn't bothered to delve any deeper into the (admittedly shallow) pool of emotion within himself to try and consider things more carefully. Now, with the benefit of hindsight and free of the Horcrux, Harry could feel the deep-rooted bond that already existed between himself and Hermione. The Monster, who before had prowled with need for others, now seemed dead set on Miss Granger as his chosen prey. Harry had already decided that he agreed with the assessment, but had also decided that their friendship was too important to him to just jump whole-hog into asking her to be his girlfriend. Little gestures. Test the waters. Don't push. Communicate. 'Slow and steady wins the race,' or so the story had said. The Monster, in response, had called him a pussy. Harry had then accused The Monster of being an uncouth, horny, alpha male prick.

Yes, he was fighting with himself. No, he wasn't entirely weirded out by that. Yes, he figured that wasn't healthy. No, he wasn't going to do anything about it.

And so, as they decided to call the session to a close on Sunday Harry drew on his Gryffindor courage and walked over to where Hermione was collecting the books they had been sifting through for spells to practice. "Hermione, can we sit and talk for a bit?" he tentatively began.

"Of course, Harry," she answered, taking a seat at the small table, with Harry pulling his own chair to face her. "What's on your mind? Think of something we should be practicing?"

"This isn't about the Tournament, or our homework, or anything like that." Harry took a deep breath before continuing. "Hermione . . . I want to . . . I think . . . feel . . . gah, why the hell is this so difficult?" he said in an exasperated tone as his head tilted toward the ceiling.

"Language, Harry," Hermione softly chided as she reached out and took his hands in hers, causing Harry to turn his gaze back down to her. "Harry, whatever it is that's bothering you, you know you can tell me. I'm happy to listen and help if I can."

"And that's just it, Hermione," he responded as he gazed at their linked hands. "You've always been there to listen. Always been there to help, even if I was too stupid to realize or accept. You've been everything I've needed you to be, but I can't help but . . . wonder if you would consider being . . . more. . ."

This had Hermione sitting up straight in her chair, a look that was part curiosity, part caution, and maybe, Harry prayed, part hope, on her face. "What are you saying, Harry?"

Harry ran his thumbs over the back of her hands, which were still in his. "The first Hogsmeade visit is the weekend after next. I was wondering if maybe . . . you'd like to go . . . with me," he finished, as if that part was not blatantly obvious.

Hermione could only sit there, stunned. She wasn't afraid to admit to herself that, like a lot of girls at Hogwarts, she'd carried a small torch for Harry Potter. The fact that he was her best friend had helped to keep that flame lit but she'd kept it low, knowing that how he'd been raised would likely have stunted his emotional growth and kept him from being able to properly express himself. Since Halloween, though, she'd seen a side of Harry that she'd never experienced before, and with it being just the two of them most of the time she couldn't help but take notice. He seemed more sure of himself, more mature, and was even responding to her in ways that could even be interpreted as . . . dare she say it . . . _flirtatious_. Hermione had even intentionally instigated several back-and-forths, just to make sure she wasn't imagining things. She'd noticed how he had glanced at her as they had sparred, and even added an occasional wiggle here or jiggle there just to gauge his reaction, a reaction which had made her feel attractive and powerful. She could also admit to herself that every time he called her 'Mistress' and gave her that smirk it did very weird things to certain parts of both her physical and emotional self.

Hermione had already told herself that she liked this new, more confident and expressive Harry, and now she had encountered the next evolution of that expressiveness, and it was targeted, it would seem, at her. Her, Hermione Granger, with her wild hair and too-big front teeth, had drawn the eye of her best friend. Her very cute, apparently finally coming into his own best friend. _How do I feel about that?_ she asked herself. She looked over at him, seeing his scared but hopeful expression as he fidgeted, waiting to see if she accepted his offer.

 _Pretty gosh darn good_ was the response, and a small smile finally crept onto her face. "I'd really like that, Harry," she finally said, and couldn't help but be entranced by the relieved yet happy smile he gave her.

"Oh. Well . . . brilliant. It's a date, then. It _is_ a date, right?"

Hermine chuckled. "Yes, Harry, it's definitely a date."

"Brilliant," he whispered again, and Hermione then outright laughed at the distant, self-satisfied look that came across his face.

* * *

A/N: It occurred to me at some point that Luna would probably have never bought in to what the rest of the school thought because . . . well, because she's Luna. And I just kept seeing that mural in her bedroom and couldn't resist.

I pretty much wrote this entire chapter around Harry's rant at Draco in the Entrance Hall. There was a point for about a week and a half where that rant was the only part of this chapter that was written, and I kept trying to wrap text around it and failing miserably. Not the best way to write, but it was an interesting exercise.

As always, thanks for your follows, favorites, views, and reviews. 6/24/19


	4. Bloody Promises and Ferret-Slapping

Chapter 4 – Bloody Promises and Ferret-Slapping

It seemed that, by unspoken agreement, Harry and Hermione chose to wait and see how their date went before deciding if they should pursue a change in their relationship. So even though there were a few shy smiles here and there they had not taken any further steps down the road of a courtship; no hand holding, no additional words of endearment, no kissing, etc. Harry also made the conscious decision not to put a lot of work into dealing with the Horcrux/Voldemort problem until after the First Task; it wasn't like he could finish anything before Riddle had a body anyway, which wouldn't happen until next Summer, and even if he had done it before going one-on-one versus a dragon wasn't something to take lightly. He knew he could get to the Diadem and the Locket fairly easily, the latter once he made contact with Sirius, though he wasn't sure how he was going to explain how he knew about it yet. Hopefully he could get Nagini in the cemetery along with Voldemort. He was curious if his status as Death's Champion would help with the Ring, seeing as how one of Thandie's artifacts was a part of it; he'd have to find a way to try it and see what happened. That just left Hufflepuff's Cup, which he had no idea how to get to this time; they had barely gotten their hands on it the last time, and might have caused a new goblin uprising while doing so.

These delays were fine with Harry as he had plenty on his plate that he needed to work on in the short term; training for both the Tournament and the eventual showdown in the graveyard, classes, trying to further cement his 'new' friendship with Luna, and working on how to avoid or turn to his advantage events that, if things were to stay true to the previous timeline, were rapidly approaching. He knew that the coming Friday would hold several events that had the potential to truly bugger with things. For one there was the Weighing of the Wands ceremony, which was apparently supposed to be an introduction of the Champions to the world at large that no one had bothered to inform him about. He'd looked like an incompetent child the last go-round; to be fair he mostly was an incompetent child at the time, but that was no excuse not to give him a heads up. He decided that the easiest way forward for this issue was to make sure the robes he wore Friday were cleaned and pressed and that he took the time to polish his (holly and phoenix feather) wand the night before.

That same event had also put him on a collision course with Rita Skeeter and her poison quill that she just loved to jam straight into his back. Rita's articles about him over the next few months had not at all helped in trying to repair his status with his schoolmates, and worse had caused Hermione to be both belittled and injured. Harry was going to have to find a way to either work with the woman or keep her out of his hair, and since he didn't have an unbreakable glass jar handy he needed a strategy to placate the journalist and/or get her on his side.

Also this coming Friday would mark the arrival of the oh-so-wonderful badges worn by the Slytherins and some of the other students, meant to further degrade Harry and damage his reputation amongst the student body. It was this one that Harry thought he could afford to expend a bit of his frustrations on, as it shouldn't have any long-term implications and would allow for a bit of mischief at others' expense; Harry was in particular looking forward to more ferret-slapping. In the short times when he wasn't in class, doing homework, or practicing with Hermione he was spending time in the Library working on an idea to do just that; he had what he believed was a solid plan to deal with Malfoy's next big play but needed to figure out just how to make it coalesce. Discovery of the necessary spells, along with prodigious use of the Invisibility Cloak and Marauders Map to access areas he shouldn't, allowed him to put the pieces he needed in place Thursday evening.

As before, the second Friday afternoon after his name had come out of the Goblet saw the Fourth Year Slytherins waiting outside of the Potions classroom as the Gryffindors approached. Malfoy and his 2-man brute squad stepped forward as they saw Harry approaching with Hermione; all of the Snakes were wearing their 'Support Cedric Diggory' badges, the 'Side B' of which has caused Harry to start a spell battle right there in the hallway in the previous timeline. "Hey Potter! What do you think?" Draco sneered, eager to regain some credibility after his verbal attack against Harry the week before had gone so poorly. The blond Slytherin pointed at his badge as the Gryffindors approached and his chosen target stepped up in front of him. For his part, Harry just looked down at the bright red lettering displayed on the chest of every green-lined robe. "That's right, Potter. The _real_ Hogwarts champion. You want to know what else?" Draco asked with a maniacal gleam in his eye. Harry had to fight hard to hide his smile of triumph as all of the Snakes tapped their badges and they all swapped to say 'Potter Stinks.'

All but three, that is.

Crabbe's, Goyle's, and Malfoy's badges doubled in size, and instead of displaying the green writing of the others each had their own message to convey to the world. Goyle's now proclaimed

 **Official Malfoy Miniature Manhood Muncher**

in bright pink letters. Crabbe's had lavender writing and stated for the record

 **I [heart] Dining on Delicious Diminutive Draco Dong**

Harry hadn't been able to come up with something alliteratively appropriate for Malfoy, and so had instead gone for simplicity.

 **My Anus Tastes Like Lemons. Ask Me How I Know**

It seemed like none of the three immediately noticed, and Harry theatrically looked down at each badge in turn before looking back up at Malfoy. "You know what? I was not aware of any of that. Your parents must all be so proud," he stated sarcastically.

That was the last straw for Hermione; despite the vulgarity she couldn't help but emit an un-ladylike snort before the giggling began. She wasn't the only one, though; pretty soon the entire hallway was laughing at the three boys, especially when it was discovered that it appeared each of the three badges was now held to their robes by a Permanent Sticking Charm as were their robes to their shoulders, making it nigh impossible to remove them short of Severing Charms. _Thank you Walburga Black, you spiteful bitch, for showing me how to extend the torture with such a simple spell._ Harry couldn't keep the smug smirk off his face at their plight anymore. Draco, noticing his hated enemy's visage and putting two and two together, began reaching for his wand.

Harry immediately stepped forward, his own wand already in hand. This was the point last time that Hermione had been hit with a stray spell, and Harry was desperate not to let that happen again. He knew Hermione had liked having her teeth shrunk, but the pain and embarrassment she had suffered in order to have that happen were not something that Harry could allow. He did his best to project an air of determination and menace, and it must have worked; Draco's eyes went wide as Harry went nose-to-nose with him. "Malfoy, I swear to God, Merlin, Morgana, and anyone else that's listening: if that wand clears your pocket I'm going to shove it so far up your citrus-scented arse that when you case a _Lumos_ your head is going to light up like a Jack-O-Lantern," he growled out. The Slytherin's hand immediately moved away from the handle of his wand, all bravado lost in the face of this new Harry Potter, one who seemed to be willing to strike back with more than childish words or prank spells.

Any further escalation was saved by the approach of Snape, who of course took the opportunity to punish Harry. "Potter! Ten points from Gryffindor for having a drawn wand in the hallways. Now, all of you, inside," he said as he pushed open the door to the Potions classroom. As the students filed in he saw the badges, especially those that had been modified, and after a whispered conversation with Draco put the three boys at the back of the classroom where no one would be able to look at them until class was over and they could escape back to the Slytherin dorms.

An inordinate number of points were lost by Gryffindor during that class, as each teen would occasionally develop a case of the giggles thinking about what had happened before class. Harry considered it a small price to pay for brining Malfoy down another notch; he was hoping that if he could demoralize the Slytherin enough that he would become a non-entity in the future and not merit further consideration. About halfway through the lesson Colin Creevey appeared at the Potions classroom door as he had during Harry's first go-round, stating that Harry and the other champions had been summoned. Packing up his materials and whispering a quick 'see you later' to Hermione, Harry headed up to see what he could do about Rita and, hopefully, his reputation as a whole.

Harry entered the small classroom to see the same cast of characters as before; the three Champions, the Prophet photographer Bozo ( _seriously, what is up with wizards and naming their kids_ Harry thought), Ludo Bagman, and the blond curls and magenta robes of Magical Britain's favorite reporter-cum-character assassin, Rita Skeeter. Harry played dumb about what was going on until Rita asked to speak to him privately. "Actually, Miss Skeeter, if it's alright I really think it would be better if the Champions were interviewed in the order that the Goblet chose them. Doesn't that give a bit of a better narrative; discovering how each one of them felt as their or the other names came out, waiting with baited breath to see if they would be chosen?" Though a bit non-plussed initially, as the mental imagery Harry described came forth Rita decided that it actually sounded pretty good; she completely missed Harry's subtle intonations that he was not a Champion. That disarmingly deadly smile back on her face, she dragged Viktor Krum away to a corner of the room to be interviewed. Harry noticed that she was trying to use her Quick-Quotes Quill and surreptitiously sent a silent _Confundus_ at it, smiling as she was forced to take proper notes during her discussion with the Durmstrang Champion after the green quill kept writing "The carpet doesn't match the drapes" over and over again on the parchment. Their interview continued until Dumbledore arrived with Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and Mr. Ollivander, and the Weighing of the Wands ceremony went much like he remembered from the first time, complete with the uncomfortable pictures that Harry made a point to stay on the outliers of. As Bozo was finishing up his shots a bit sooner than it had taken before, Harry approached Rita. "Miss Skeeter, if you would be able to stick around until dinnertime and interview the other two Champions, I'd be happy to speak with you after the meal if you wish. I'm sure the Headmaster could find you a chair at the Head Table" Seeing she might be able to get even more out of the Boy-Who-Lived, she readily agreed before pulling Fleur to the table for her interview, while Harry escaped the room as fast as he could. He ducked surreptitiously behind a tapestry hiding one of the many hidden stairwells and pulled the Marauders Map, unlocking it before searching for Hermione. With the last class of the day over, she should either be in the Gryffindor Common Room or the Library.

So his heart leapt into his throat when he found the dot marked 'Hermione Granger' down a disused dungeon hallway. That in itself wouldn't have been so bad, except she wasn't alone. The Monster awoke and roared angrily, and Harry couldn't help but agree with him 100%.

{-}

"Oh this should be good," Thandie giggled as she looked down through what could only be described by magical mortals as a giant Pensieve. "Thanks so much for arranging this for me, Theia."

Her companion stepped up next to her and looked down as well. " _That's_ your Champion?" she almost mocked. "Not much to him, is there?"

"Oh, he's got it where it counts," Thandie purred with a mischievous grin. "Besides, it's not the wrapper that's important, it's the tasty, creamy center underneath." One of Theia's eyebrows raised at the description as Thandie peered closer and breathed in deeply. "Even now I can feel it. Adrenalin is starting to pump through his system. Blood flooding into muscles that are preparing for action. Thoughts and plans running through his mind like quicksilver; the fastest way down to her, spells that will hurt and punish but not kill or permanently maim. Anger. Fury, even. A desire to instill the fear of Death into those who oppose him." She shuddered. "If he reached his hand out right now the Wand would happily answer his call, ready to deal Death and Judgement if he should wish it." She took a step back and tried to collect herself. "It's a bit intoxicating, really."

"If you say so," Theia responded. "Personally, I never understood that aspect of you. Death is so blasé; while I'll grant it's powerful to the mortals, I can't wrap my head around the sensation, the emotion, even the romanticism that you assign to it."

"That's because you're a glitter whore," Thandie responded as she saw Harry put the Map back in his pocket and begin flying down the castle toward Hermione. "For you if something isn't shiny it's not worth your attention."

"That was a bit uncalled for," Theia whined.

"Then don't badmouth my Champion," Thandie replied without remorse as she waited for the curtain to go up. She didn't think Harry was _actually_ about to kill anyone; though he was indeed Death's Champion that didn't make him bloodthirsty. Of course, if something happened to Hermione before he got there . . . well, she might just have to go in to work on a Friday evening after all.

{-}

Potions had ended, and the rest of the class filed out as Hermione took the time to make sure her cauldron was perfectly clean before stowing it and the rest of her class materials and heading for the door. Normally she would have walked with Harry and Ron, but with Ron being . . . well, Ron, and with Harry having been called away she was making the trek by herself. Something that, in hindsight, was probably a bad idea given what had happened before class.

"I know you helped Potter do this, Mudblood," Malfoy said as she turned a corner and found him and his bookends waiting for her. "Potter isn't smart or clever enough to come up with this on his own, let alone change these on the fly. You were the first to laugh, almost like you know it was going to happen." The Slytherin took a step forward. "Undo it now."

Panic rose inside her, but she knew that to show it would only play into Malfoy's hands. "I have no idea what you're talking about. It seems like the Slytherins made the badges; shouldn't you ask your own House how to undo whatever was done to them?"

Draco took another step forward, his wand held menacingly in his hand. "Last chance, Mudblood. Fix this or you'll regret it."

That was all Hermione needed to hear to take action. Her arm holding the cauldron and other Potion supplies swung with force, the cast iron container striking Draco hard on his left cheek and dazing him. Hermione dropped her bookbag and the rest of her materials and ran for it, Malfoy's slightly slurred "Get her you cretins!" echoing against the hard dungeon walls as she sprinted away. In her panic, she paid no attention to where she was going, turning left and right seemingly at random as the footsteps of her pursuers sounded in her ears along with her frightened heartbeat.

Completely lost in unfamiliar territory, it was only a matter of time before she turned down a hallway the seemingly dead-ended. Turning, wand drawn, she saw Crabbe lumbering toward her in the lead. " _Petrificus Totalus_ " she incanted, the Full Body-Bind causing the large Slytherin to nose dive to the hard stone floor with a meaty _thunk._ She tried the same on Goyle behind him, but the boy managed to put up a weak shield that nonetheless stopped her spell cold.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " roared Draco from the back and, caught unawares that he was there due to the bulk of his two cronies, Hermione's wand was ripped from her grasp and sailed across the hallway to Draco's waiting hands. Now unarmed, Hermione backed away until she came in contact with the far wall, it being the only thing that kept her body upright as her legs began to shake in fear. Malfoy cast the countercharm on Crabbe, who stood unsteadily and appeared to have a broken nose from impacting the floor. Draco then turned back toward Hermione, a painful-looking bruise on his cheek and murder in his eyes. "I was willing to give you a chance before, Mudblood, but now . . . now I'm just going to enjoy myself. _Flipendo!_ " A force like a punch to the gut hit Hermione, doubling her over and driving her to her knees as her eyes started to water. "That's just the beginning of what I'm going to do to you, bitch," Malfoy sneered. Hermione looked at him, mouth agape and eyes red, and the Slytherin laughed. "Look at you, you disgusting buck-toothed know-it-all. Why don't we accentuate just what an ugly specimen you really are. _Densaugeo._ " Hermione put her head down as her front teeth started to grow out of control. "Oh, poor pathetic Mudblood," Draco taunted, "what else do you think we should change?" He pointed his wand at Hermione yet again when suddenly the wall she had been trapped up against disappeared, revealing one of the castle's many secret passageways and the uniquely irate Harry Potter.

" _Flipendo Maximo"_ Harry snarled, the maximized jinx connecting solidly with Malfoy's left knee. There was a sickening crunch as the joint was ratcheted 180 degrees from standard. Malfoy's scream as he pitched sideways on his way to the floor drowned out the overpowered Banishing Charm from the black-haired teen out of time that launched Malfoy hard into Crabbe and Goyle, the three of them falling in a heap on the ground after travelling several meters as a group. Three Stunners later and they were knocked out. His opponents incapacitated for now,Harry's eyes became filled with concern as he knelt next to Hermione, who was hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders heaved in sobs. Without saying a word, he lifted her face by putting his fingers to her chin. When she finally looked up the tears were flowing from her eyes with abandon, and her front teeth had extended almost to the knot of her tie. " _Finite Incantatem_ " Harry intoned, stopping their growth before he wrapped one arm around her and kissed her forehead. He conjured a hand mirror and handed it to her. "Tell me when, okay?" he asked before pointing his wand at her. She shook her head in fear, making him drop his aim and take his hand in hers. "Hermione: trust me," he said, and she stared at him hard before nodding an affirmative and he began. " _Densadtenuo_ ," he said, and the counter-curse to the Teeth Enlarging spell, a counter he had learned just in case he wasn't able to stop Hermione from being attacked as she had been previously, began to reduce her teeth back to normal. He went as slowly as he could, and she finally tapped him when they reached the size she'd had them shrunk to after Malfoy had done this before. He Vanished the mirror and pulled her into a tight hug. "I need to do something quick, and then we'll get out of here." At her hesitant nod he stood, bringing Hermione with him, and whispered to her "Wait here just one sec," giving her a second kiss on the head before turning back toward the three unconscious Slytherins. " _Serpensortia_ ," Harry said, and a large python, at least 20 feet long, spit from the end of his wand onto the floor. "§ _Hold the one with the light-colored head, but don't squeeze yet_ §" Harry told the snake in Parseltongue. The snake, seeing that it might get a meal out of this, eagerly approached Malfoy and it took little time for it to wrap its long body several times around the boy. Once the python had him, Harry walked over and knelt down and cast a _Silencio_ on Malfoy before hitting him with the Reviving Spell. Once Draco awoke it was obvious he was screaming in pain from his destroyed knee as he began to struggle against his bonds, right up until the head of the snake that was holding him appeared right in front of his face, its forked tongue lashing out at the skin of his unbruised cheek. At that discovery his eyes got very large and his lower lip started to quiver. Harry frankly felt it wasn't near enough payback, but it was a decent start. He started scratching the snake under the chin like one might a cat or dog as he started talking.

"I was trying to be more delicate about this. I was hoping that if you suffered enough body blows it would be clear to even a brain dead waste of carbon like you, but apparently too many generations of no branches in your family tree has made you either deaf or mentally deficient. And then you had to go and do something so incredibly stupid that I feel like it's a crime against humanity to let you keep breathing. So I'm going to say this to you once, slowly and simply so that there is no misunderstanding; _back the fuck off, or else_." Harry's anger got the better of him then, and he grabbed Draco by the hair and wrenched his head up. "Touch her again, and I'll drag you out of the castle by your bollocks and feed you to the Acromantula in the forest. I'll pop popcorn and watch while they drain you dry little by little before sending your desiccated corpse to that Death Eater cocksucker you call a father. Look at her wrong, insult her . . . fuck, if she falls down and skins her knee while you're in the same room, and I will burn the very fabric of your existence to the ground and salt the earth with your tears." Harry let Draco's head go; it hit the floor painfully while he turned toward the python and spoke a long string of Parseltongue. The snake almost seemed to smile as it turned back toward its prey and put its head right next to Malfoy's ear, so that he felt every flick of the creature's tongue. Harry then cast a _Muffliato_ at the intersection of the corridor, ensuring no one would hear his screams if the Silencing Charm wore off, before picking up Hermione's wand. "I ordered it to just hold you tight and squeeze every now and then; it's not just humans that like to play with their food. But it's still a snake, so it might decide that killing you and eating you is easier; honestly I'm finding it hard to give a damn one way or the other. The conjuring should last another 45 minutes to an hour, so I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Harry stood and looked down. "This is your last warning, Malfoy. Heed it. I'm begging you, don't cross me again. Because if you do . . . well, let's just say that what I did to you today will be pleasant in comparison." With that, Harry threw their wands down the hallway before he turned, wrapped his arm comfortingly around the shoulders of a wide-eyed Hermione, and led her back through the entryway to the hidden passage, which once again disappeared as he left.

{-}

Hermione felt adrift in her own emotions. She had been terrified by the Slytherins, and then relieved at Harry's arrival, only to become close to terrified again at how he had dealt with Draco. Harry had been acting so . . . odd lately. She couldn't attribute it all to the stress of the Tournament, but she didn't know how else to explain the changes in him these last two weeks. She didn't necessarily _mind_ them, except all the cussing, but what she'd just witnessed gave her pause. They'd made it up a flight of steps and were backtracking toward Hermione's things she had dropped during her escape before the young witch found her voice again. "Harry . . . what was that?"

He kept walking as he looked at her, managing to control his wince as her screams from a future that would never be reverberated in his head. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?" Hermione asked in her 'Defcon 2 what an idiot' tone as she stopped and turned him to face her fully. "I mean you just attacked Draco and left him with an obvious broken knee while facing a giant snake in an abandoned hallway. Don't misunderstand me, I'm very grateful you showed up when you did, but what possessed you to do that? Didn't all of that seem a bit . . . excessive?"

"If anything, it wasn't excessive enough," Harry growled. "He hurt you."

"Harry, it's not that simple –"

"Yes, it really is that simple, Hermione," Harry responded sternly. "I'm not sure why you believe it would be so complicated. You are my best friend, the most important person in the world to me. I will not let some prick bastard like Malfoy keep doing what he's been doing, not without him understanding there are consequences. And there's no way in hell I'm going to let anyone screw with you."

"Language, Harry," was all Hermione managed to whisper in response, and despite his still amped up state the boy couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle. They exited the hidden passageway and made their way down a hallway for a bit before she asked quietly, "I'm the most important person in the world to you?"

Harry contemplated his answer for a moment and then nodded. "You have been for . . . well, for a while now," he finally answered with a blush, one that matched hers as they made their way toward the stairs back down to the Potions hallway. After a few more steps, her hand tentatively reached out for his, and he couldn't help but smile as their fingers intertwined.

{-}

The two teens were not holding hands as they entered the Great Hall for dinner; they considered that event a private affair just between the two of them. They had barely sat down and started serving themselves when the other blond-haired bane of Harry's existence sauntered her way over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. "You're the last one, Harry. Do you mind if we talk while you eat? I have to make it back to the office and get everything written up in order to make the deadline for tomorrow's edition."

"I suppose that's alright, Miss Skeeter," he responded. "Hermione, can you go grab Luna and see if she would mind coming over to eat with us?"

"Sure, Harry," Hermione responded before standing and heading over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Luna?" Rita asked eagerly. "Why Harry, has some lucky witch taken you off the market already?" Harry looked up and saw the Dicta Quill instead of her Quick-Quotes Quill; apparently his _Confundus_ had been a bit more powerful than he'd intended, not that he was at all upset by that.

"Just a good friend, Miss Skeeter," he answered as the girls made their way back over. "Her father is the editor of the Quibbler; I thought that since I'm giving my first interview that I might as well reach as many outlets as possible."

Harry saw the momentary grimace that crossed Rita's features before she again schooled her expression to a more pleasant façade. "Very well, Harry. Let's get started, shall we?" She started firing questions at him before he had a chance to respond. "First, what made you decide to enter your name into the tournament? Was it to try and prove yourself against witches and wizards older and more experienced than you? Were you trying to see how you measured up?"

"I didn't enter my name into the Goblet of Fire, Miss Skeeter."

"Of course you didn't, Harry," the older witch said with a wink. "Come on, Harry, you can tell me. Everyone loves a rebel."

"Oh for Christ's sake," Harry said, deciding now was as good a time as any to enact his plan. "Please make sure you get this part down, will you?" he said before he stood and climbed up onto the Gryffindor table. _Dinner and a show_ he thought to himself. "Headmaster, may I address the school?"

Dumbledore looked up from his meal at the call and the almost instant quieting of the hall. Harry Potter stood on his house table looking intently toward him. Not sure what this was all about, he tried to see what information he could glean. "This is quite unorthodox, Harry. I trust this is something important?"

"As far as I'm concerned, it's absolutely vital, sir."

"Very well. Would you like to come forward?"

"I'm find here, Professor," he said before looking across the students and staff of Hogwarts. "Over the last two weeks I have heard an innumerable number of you cast aspersions upon me for my entry into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, believing that I entered myself despite my repeated claims that I did not. I guess I should be used to it," he continued, his head hanging slightly. "Two years ago all of you believed I was the Heir of Slytherin and was petrifying my fellow students in the halls. Only Hermione being turned to stone convinced most of you that your assumptions were false.

"Well, there's no way in hell I'm going to let something happen to Hermione again to prove to you people that I am telling the truth. Instead, perhaps putting myself at risk instead will appease you." With that, he pulled his wand and, before anyone could say anything, drew it across his left palm. Blood began dripping onto the table as he incanted " _Sanguis meus testis est_." There were a few gasps, mostly from the Head Table, and of course Hermione, as they understood what Harry was doing. He gripped the middle of his wand with his bloodied hand and placed it over his heart for all to see. "My name is Harry James Potter. I was born on the 31st of July 1980. I did not enter my name into the Goblet of Fire. I did not ask another to enter my name into the Goblet of Fire. I did not wish to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and am doing so only because of a binding magical contract with an unknown penalty for breeching it. _Magicae est judex meus,_ " he finished, and a small flash of light enveloped his wounded hand for a moment. He brought it down and wiped the palm with a napkin before raising it to show that the cut had healed. Everyone was looking at him as he sat back down and nonchalantly began eating his dinner. Even Rita Skeeter seemed momentarily stunned.

Dumbledore had been on his feet as soon as he'd heard the beginning of Harry's casting, but was powerless to interfere for the risk to Harry; once begun, the casting had to be completed uninterrupted. He was pleased that no one else had spoken out, and also that Harry understood to keep the statements simple and with no ambiguity. He shook his head to put his brain back in gear as he spoke to the room. "For those of you uninitiated in some of the older magic that has fallen into disuse, Mister Potter has just given a Blood Oath that he did not enter his name into the Goblet of Fire. The Blood Oath is one of the precursors to the Unbreakable Vow, but used after the fact as opposed to before. It also has the same penalty for violation; had Mr. Potter spoke untruthfully during his Oath he would have died. As he is still with us at the Gryffindor table cutting into . . . is that a chicken breast, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, to which Harry just gave a thumbs up as he chewed. "Yes, anyway . . . as Mr. Potter is still with us, it stands to reason that his statements during his Oath were all truthful. I hope that this can once and for all end any speculation as to whether Mr. Potter had a hand in his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire." With that, the headmaster sat back down and low murmurs began to permeate the hall once again.

Harry, for his part, swallowed before looking at Rita. "What else would you like to know for your article Miss Skeeter?"

* * *

A/N: I'm trying to ween chapters back down to the 4500-5500 word range to try and be a little more consistent in my posting.

Theia was the Greek goddess of sight, and also of shiny objects. No need to redo her name.

Sanguis meus testis est = "My blood is my witness." Magicae est judex meus = "My magic is my judge."

As always, thanks for your follows, favorites, views, and reviews.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – The Great Fake Fellated Snake, an Irate Mate, and a Late Update With an Ex-Inmate**

Neither Harry nor Hermione were prepared for Lavender Brown to plop down opposite them at the Gryffindor table during breakfast Saturday morning. Harry looked up from his plate and couldn't hide his wince as The Bill showed him the blond girl's broken body on the floor of the Entry Hall, Fenrir Greyback having just bitten her after she'd fallen from the balcony above. Thankfully the girl seemed not to notice, her attention apparently on something much more interesting to her. "Have you two heard the news about Draco Malfoy?"

Harry reacted very calmly but he noticed Hermione's subtle gasp at the mention of the boy who had attacked her less than 24 hours previously. "Can't say that we have, Lavender. What has the Great Albino Ferret of Wiltshire done now?"

The perky Fourth Year giggled before answering. "Well, apparently sometime just before dinner last night he got dragged into the Hospital Wing by those two apes that follow him around."

"Now Lavender, that's not nice. Calling Crabbe and Goyle that is an insult to apes everywhere."

Lavender smiled brightly at Harry, causing a previously unknown and completely unexpected spike of jealousy to rise up in Hermione. The other girl continued before anything could come of it. "Well, anyway, apparently they carried him in with a broken knee and some weird compression fractures on his ribs. When they were asked what happened to Draco, none of them spoke up." She leaned in over the table and made a little gesture for the two opposite her to do the same, which they did. "There's a very interesting story going around Slytherin as to what happened; apparently Draco got hurt in some kind of lovers' spat. From what I hear, after Potions yesterday they all met up in an abandoned section of the dungeons. It would seem neither of the other two wanted to play second fiddle for Draco's . . . fiddle," Lavender continued, giggling again at her wit, "and in the course of their . . . exertions Goyle hexed Crabbe, who fell on Draco while they were . . . _in flagrante delicto_ , so to speak. That's how he got hurt so badly."

Harry wasn't sure why Draco and his goons refused to say what really happened, and he didn't really care; this rumor was music to Harry's ears, and he intended to draw maximum laughs out of this event, unable to hide the wide smile that crossed his face. "Thanks for the info, Lavender. It's . . . very interesting, and certainly very entertaining."

"My pleasure, Harry," the girl almost purred as she stood up to head down the table to where Parvati was sitting with a couple of Fifth Year girls. The departing Gryffindor gave Harry a saucy wink and departed with a noticeable sway to her hips, and Hermione had to consciously stop herself from drawing her wand. Harry chuckled at Hermione's 'harumph' due to the girls flirtatious departure, but disarmed the situation by gently grabbing her hand under the table and reminding her who he was looking forward to having a date with in Hogsmeade the following weekend.

{-}

Overall, Harry was also in a good mood that weekend for a number of reasons. As in the timeline before, after dinner that Friday he had received a response from Sirius to the letter he'd sent on 1 November. This time, however, apparently he and Remus had linked up due to Harry sending both of them notes that he needed to meet with them, and so they were supposed to get together in the Shrieking Shack after Harry's late Astronomy lesson Tuesday into Wednesday. Harry had a few things that he wanted to go over with the 2 Marauders, plus he couldn't promise himself that he wouldn't hug Sirius to within an inch of his life when he saw them. For Harry, it had been almost 2 years since Sirius had died, and about 2 weeks since he'd seen Remus's body lying in the Great Hall next to Tonks, who was someone else he'd have to 'meet' since she was not only a trained Auror but based on his few interactions with her seemed a genuinely good person.

Harry had originally figured he and Hermione could sneak off to the Shack using the Cloak without drawing too much attention since people were pretty much ignoring them, but that was before he had jumped up on the Gryffindor table and started repairing his reputation. Gryffindor brashness had helped his reputation but totally screwed his low profile. In the two days since his rather dramatic actions in the Great Hall he'd been approached by many members of the student body. Most of them came to apologize to him, both for Second Year and for the previous two weeks. Some were better than others; a few tried to justify their actions with the 'walks like a duck, quacks like a duck' logic which, while Harry understood, did not endear those people to him greatly. Thankfully they were people he mostly didn't care about anyway and just wanted off his back. He could tell the people that were honestly sorry for not believing him, and those were the people who truly earned his forgiveness. The Weasley Twins had injected their usual brand of levity into their apology, which had nonetheless come from the heart. Neville was his usual nervous self but was obviously genuinely repentant. Hannah Abbot had come up to him after breakfast on Saturday apologizing pretty much on behalf of all of Hufflepuff; he remembered the conversation he'd overheard Second Year, and her attempt to stand up for him despite the peer pressure from her housemates, and so accepted with a smile that made the girl blush and Hermione 'harumph' as she had with Lavender. The Gryffindor Chasers, however, had been his favorite apology to date by a wide, wide, WIDE margin. They had caught him in the Common Room late Friday night and wrapped him in a hug all at the same time, pressing their athletic and quite delectable bodies against him as Katie and Alicia kissed his cheeks and Angelina kissed his nose while all three whispered apologies and flirtatiously double-entendre'd 'we'll make it up to you's in his ears. He theorized it was those comments more than even the feel of the three lovely ladies that had led to the very vivid dream of a fivesome with them and Hermione he'd had that night, and based on how his brown-haired best friend had reacted to Lavender and Hannah the following morning he was very glad Hermione had gone to bed before they'd approached him.

In addition to the rumor mill grinding out the story of Draco and his allegedly ferret-fellating comrades, Saturday morning had brought Rita's article in the Daily Prophet and, for the most part, it was good. At least this time she had profiles and interviews with each contestant instead of the train wreck it had been in the before-time. There _had_ been a blurb during the (much longer than the others Champions) portion of the article dedicated to him about how he'd 'stood tall and defiantly upon the table for the house of the brave, facing down peers and professors alike, to not only state that he was innocent but prove it by spilling his own blood.' It was a bit much, but it got the point across, so Harry was okay with it. He'd still keep an eye on Rita, opportunistic bug that she was, but at the moment she was behaving so he pushed thoughts of her to the back of his mind.

But it was now Sunday evening and there was one person in particular who still had not come forward and apologized to him, and it was the one person who he was most conflicted about; one Ronald Bilius Weasley. It was Ron's disbelief and actions against him, in both timelines, that had hurt the most. At the same time, he knew Ron was utter shit at apologies or repentance, or really anything that required more than, as Hermione had once put it, 'the emotional range of a teaspoon.' Still, you'd think the guy who you had considered your best mate for, in this timeline, the last 3 years, could find it within himself to put his big girl knickers on and say that he was sorry for being an angry, jealous, emotionally crippled, backstabbing, rabble-rousing, hate-mongering, abandoning . . .

Alright, maybe Harry had some issues of his own to work out with regard to Ron. But he still thought the redhead was a git for not believing him.

Harry and Hermione had finished their training session Sunday with about 2 hours to curfew, and so Hermione had decided to head to the Library. Harry thought he'd spend some time in the Common Room catching up with the Quidditch team and generally relaxing. In hindsight, he should have known that 'Harry Potter' and 'relaxing evening' should never be used in the same sentence.

"Uhhh . . . Harry, mate, can I have a word?" Harry turned his head up from his very entertaining conversation with Katie and Fred to see Ron standing there with a look that, to Harry, seemed only vaguely penitent. At the seated boy's nod and hand motion to 'get on with it,' Ron flushed before continuing, "in private?"

"Ron," Harry said, standing up, "your brothers were man enough to apologize to me in front of everyone. So was Neville. Hell, even the girls had enough balls to say they were sorry in public, though I'll tell you for free even with me saying that there's not a single thing man-ish about those three."

"Cheers, Harry," Angelina said with a laugh.

The boy in question smiled before turning back to Ron. "If you've got something to say to me, be man enough to say it in front of everyone." Ron's ears reddened but he continued to just look down and grind the toe of one foot into the floor and Harry sighed. "Ron, you've been my mate for 3 years. The others I can understand; they don't know me nearly as well. You and I . . . well, we've been through some shit together. And I _thought_ that meant my saying I didn't put my name in the Goblet would have been enough for you. But it wasn't, and no offense to anyone else in this room, but that made your betrayal a hell of a lot worse than theirs."

Ron's head shot up at the word 'betrayal.' "Harry, I'd never –"

"But you _did_ Ron," Harry said angrily, his emotions getting the better of him. "You deserted me. You badmouthed me at every opportunity. I'm supposedly your best mate, and yet you did those things. Because of a fucking magic cup!" He breathed deep, trying to get himself under control. "That's not something that is going to be fixed with an 'I'm sorry,' Ron. Not by a long shot."

Ron looked around the room warily; every eye was on them, and some people had even come down from the dorm to bear witness. "Okay, Harry, I get this is going to take some time for you to get your head back on straight. Why don't you take the week to settle a bit? Then I'll buy you a butterbeer at the Broomsticks next weekend and we can bury the hatchet."

 _Does he really think buying me a fucking drink is going to solve all this?_ Harry wondered to himself before shaking his head sadly. "Ron, not only is that not even in the realm of things that could fix stuff between us, but I have a date next weekend." _I guess that particular plaster had to be ripped off sometime._

"What?" Ron gaped. "With who? No one in this school has been talking to you for weeks except . . ." Ron's eyes got wide as he realized who Harry's date must be with, and Ron saw red. "You fucking bastard, you know I have a thing for Hermione!"

If Harry had thought about it, he might not have yelled out what he said next for general consumption, given his currently restored 'celebrity' status and the speed information traveled within the castle. "Yeah, well did it ever enter that pea brain of yours that _I_ might have a thing for her too?!"

Ron seemed to not hear Harry's response, though he was sure it would hit the rumor underground by breakfast. "You stand there and talk about betrayal while at the same time snaking your way into Hermione's knickers behind my back?" Ron probably would have continued his tirade, except he found it was very hard to talk with his mouth full.

Of Harry's fist.

Ron stumbled and fell on his ass, Harry standing over him with a look of murder in his eyes. "Don't insinuate something so demeaning about Hermione _ever_ again. She's an intelligent, thoughtful, beautiful woman and the very definition of a _true_ best friend. She didn't need me slicing my own hand open to prove I wasn't a liar. She knew, because she knows me. She's given of herself without question, not only this year to help me train and learn so that I can survive this nightmare that I've been forced into but in all the years we've known each other. Meantime, you've sat in the corner saying 'Oh, woe is me! I'm nothing but a whiny little bitch who ditches his best friend whenever things don't go the way I want. I wouldn't know hard work if it jumped up and bit me on the arse, but I still expect the world to hand me everything I want on a silver platter." Harry sighed. "I'm tired of it, Ron. You ditched me when I needed you most, and worse than that you made it out like you were the one who was wronged. And then when it's shown that I was right all along, instead of sacking up and admitting you were a twat you still want to play the wounded party. Well fuck that. And while we're at it, fuck you. Come talk to me again when you've grown the hell up." Harry didn't wait for a response from anyone; he just stormed toward the Portrait Hole and exited a now loudly chattering and gossiping Gryffindor Tower.

{-}

There was about a half hour left until curfew when Hermione verily skipped into the Common Room. She'd had a very good day; her and Harry had finished their homework for the coming week before having a productive training session. A few more spells had been discovered, learned, practiced, and were well on their way to being mastered. Additionally, it seemed the events of Friday had thinned the wall that separated her and Harry's friendship from 'beyond friendship.' There hadn't been anything overt; Harry's stares as they practiced were still in abundance, but they had been joined by an increased closeness as they sat together reading over the text of the spellbook and brief touches that, taken separately, would be seen as the innocent, innocuous interactions of two close friends but seemed to spark quite a bit more in both of them than that. Then she'd had a chance to spend some time in her favorite space in the castle, sitting in 'her' spot in the Library and reading more of the book on the history of the Wizengamot that she hadn't had the chance to pick back up with everything that had been going on for the last couple of weeks.

And so she was completely blindsided when she was verbally and physically attacked as soon as she entered the Common Room.

"Is it true, Hermione?" a bloody-nosed and swollen-lipped Ron asked/yelled into her face as his hands clamped onto both of her upper arms and squeezed hard, making her wince in pain. "It is, isn't it? You decided to throw yourself at Harry, hmm? Decided to whore yourself out to that attention-getting prat? Is it the bad boy thing that gets your knickers wet or the kicked puppy –"

Ron sure was spending a lot of time on the floor tonight, this time courtesy of a vicious right-handed slap from Hermione.

Fred and George, who had not risen quickly enough to stop their runaway brother from opening his mouth, shook their heads. "Saw that comin'," George commented dryly. Hermione paid them no heed, however, her entire being focused on the redhead currently on the floor.

"Ronald Weasley, how _dare_ you? Where do you get off saying something like that about Harry _or_ myself? And what delusion made you think that you have _any_ say in what I do or whom I date?" As with Harry, without the haze of anger Hermione would never have confirmed that her and Harry were going on a date, and she certainly wouldn't have said what she said next with so many witnesses around. "I will go out with whomever I darn well please; heck, I'll go ask Viktor Krum out on a date if it suits me." She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists at her sides, desperately reigning in the temper that was generally slow to rise but when it boiled over, it boiled over _hard._ After a few seconds her eyes opened again and she spoke. "Let me lay out some simple facts for you, Ronald. Harry is my best friend and a wonderful person, someone whose attention any girl would be lucky to have; I'm just glad that it happened to turn to me. You, however, are an immature, jealous, unthinking cretin and are officially persona non grata to my love life, and while we're at it why don't we extend that to my entire life." Hermione looked up at the twins. "Where's Harry?" she asked simply.

Fred was about to make a typically twin-ish comment before he saw the look she was giving the both of them. _That is definitely one scary witch_ he thought to himself before he answered. "No idea. He said basically the same thing as you did to Ronniekins here, just with a lot of expletives, before clocking him just like you and storming out of the tower. Not sure where he went after that."

Hermione nodded, spun on her heel, and headed back for the door. Just before reaching it, she stopped and spun about again, seeing that Fred and George had just gotten Ron back to his feet. "Oh, and Ronald? If you ever lay your hands on me again, I'll hex you in ways that will make you useless to a woman for the rest of your life." She looked him up and down quickly. "Not that you'd be much use to one otherwise."

Hermione's exit from Gryffindor Tower left the room in much the same state it had been when Harry had left less than a half hour before. She paid it no heed; she had a very good idea about where Harry would have gone. She scurried across the Seventh Floor and entered the Room of Requirement to find it in shambles. Parts of training dummies were scattered about everywhere, and the few that were still standing were taking a powerful beating courtesy of the wand work of one Harry Potter as he gave in to his anger at his former best mate. She stayed near the door with her wand in hand in case she needed to cast a Shield Charm, as Harry seemed not to have noticed her entrance.

When there were no longer any standing . . . or limbed . . . or headed . . . and one's groin was on fire . . . dummies, Harry seemed to crumple right before her eyes. His wand fell from his grasp and he fell to his knees, his head drooped as if in defeat. Hermione hurried over to him, coming down to his level and putting a hand on his shoulder. His head jerked up. "Is everything alright, Hermione?" he asked.

Hermione could only shake her head and smile. "Typical Harry Potter; I come into this room to find you dismembering dummies after socking our friend in the jaw, and you ask how I am." He cringed a bit, thinking she would be mad that he'd punched Ron, before she continued. "Don't feel bad; I socked him one too."

"I'd have paid good galleons to see that," Harry responded, managing a weak smile.

"Yeah, well, he deserved it," she said simply.

Harry nodded in agreement. "So . . . what do we do now?"

Hermione helped him to his feet before wrapping him in a hug, burying her head in his chest and enjoying the feel of his arms encircling her. "Exactly what we've been doing, Harry. Nothing has changed as far as I'm concerned, except that I've got one less best friend."

"Yeah, me too," Harry remarked. "Good thing the one I still have is so awesome."

"It is, isn't it?" she replied cheekily, and smiled as she lifted her head and looked at Harry, who matched her gaze and her smile. Their eyes met, faces inches apart as they beheld each other. Harry heard her screams in the back of his mind but they were being drowned out by the thumping of his own heart and the sound of Hermione's slightly quickened breathing. Both licked their lips almost simultaneously, and each moved almost imperceptibly closer to the other. "A very good thing," she whispered, but remembering herself she pulled back slightly, a deep blush on her cheeks. There was still . . . something . . . that she couldn't put her finger on. Something that wasn't necessarily troubling about Harry but that she still needed to work out. She couldn't let herself take that next step until she'd figured out what it was. "We should get back. It's almost curfew."

"Yeah," Harry replied, disappointed that they had broken apart but glad that they both were still on the same page. He decided to try and play off any tension between them as he offered Hermione his arm. "Madame?" he said in as deep a voice as he could manage, which wasn't very deep at all. "May I escort you to your quarters?"

Hermione smiled and slipped her arm through his. "I'd be delighted good sir."

{-}

It was surprisingly easy to slip away from the crowd of sleepy 14-year-olds after their Astronomy lesson Tuesday night; they simply walked at the back of the group headed for the tower, letting the distance open up a little more as time went by, and then slipped into an alcove when everyone else had turned a corner. Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag and did his best to make it cover the both of them; even at this stage in their growth it wasn't an easy thing to fit two people in a space meant for one. There were an innumerable number of (mostly unintentional but totally enjoyable) bumps, grinds, grabs, and gropes as the pair stealthily exited the castle and headed for the Whomping Willow. A quick Levitation Charm to hit the knot in the tree trunk and they were back in the narrow passageway that led to 'The Most Haunted House in Britain.' Once inside they shed the Cloak, leaving it and their bags at the Willow entrance to the tunnel so as not to complicate their trip; it wasn't as bad as it had been when he, Ron, and Hermione had moved through it to find Voldemort and Nagini, but it was still uncomfortable having to hunch over in order to move down the low-ceilinged passage.

As they approached the other end they noticed a weak light coming from the room where the tunnel ended; obviously at least one of the two Marauders was already in the house. Knowing this quickened Harry's pace; he wasn't sure how he was going to react seeing the two of them, but he was eager to find out. A quick peak out of the exit to confirm it was both Sirius and Remus and Harry practically sprang out of the hole, pausing only long enough to help Hermione out before turning and wrapping Sirius in a hug.

"It's good to see you, Harry," Sirius chuckled as he patted Harry on the back. Harry, for his part, was trying very hard not to cry as The Bill put Sirius falling through the Veil of Death on repeat in his mind. That was a small price to pay, though, to see his godfather again after 2 of the hardest years of his life. Yes, they hadn't had very long together before he'd been taken the last time, but just knowing that there was someone out there that wanted to be his family, that he could turn to no matter what (aside from Hermione, of course), lightened his soul just a little.

"It's good to see you too, Padfoot," Harry finally managed to get out. He broke their hug and turned toward Remus. "How are you, Moony?" he asked, reaching out and shaking the werewolf's hand while The Bill showed him the man's pale, dusty corpse in the Great Hall during the battle that had taken his life. He discovered he was more neutral than he originally expected in regard to Remus; yes, he had named Harry as his son's godfather, but he'd also very nearly abandoned that same child before he was born in order to follow Harry on his mission. Still, seeing the man alive and well was a boon.

"As well as can be, all things considered," Remus replied easily as Hermione was busy hugging Sirius. "Well, let's get down to it; it's already late and I get the feeling we have a number of things to go over."

The four of them took seats on some overturned crates that lay in the room, the lantern the older two had brought providing sufficient light even in the dingy old house. Harry started them off. "Alright, so by now you two know that I'm being forced to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament this year."

"Any luck figuring out who put your name in?" Sirius asked immediately. The fact that Harry knew Sirius believed him without having to have it proven to him was just another mark for the Animagus and against Ron.

"No, but I think it might be related to that dream I told you about from earlier this summer, and maybe what happened at the World Cup."

"You think Death Eaters had something to do with it?" Remus asked, seemingly in disbelief.

"More their boss, but yeah. Either that or it's one hell of a series of coincidences. I mean, I have a dream about Voldemort and Wormtail taking refuge in an old manor house, talking about a plan that required me, and I wake up with my scar hurting the way it did during First Year with Quirrell. Then there's a Death Eater attack, which hasn't happened since '81, at the World Cup. And then my name just happens to come out of the Goblet of Fire? The whole thing stinks."

"Wait . . . you never said anything about Peter being in your dream," Sirius growled out. "Do you know where they were?"

"No, and even if I did I wouldn't tell you," Harry admitted. At the hurt look on his godfather's face he continued. "Sirius, will you please stop and think for a second? You've already gone to prison once because of that arsehole, and all of Britain wants to see your soul munched on by a Dementor. That last thing I'm going to do is encourage you to gallivant all over the countryside to satisfy a vendetta." The older man still looked unconvinced, and Harry growled. "Damnit Sirius, I _need_ you. Whole, hale, and healthy. Preferably free too, and we'll work on that, but can we focus on the other three first?"

The other three in the room could only nod at Harry's logic. It was a subdued but agreeing Sirius who spoke next. "So what's the plan?"

"Well, for the moment the plan is to compete in the Tournament."

"Are you cracked?" Sirius answered. "No way in hell I'm going to let you do that! That 'whole, hale, and healthy' thing works both ways, you know. The Tournament was cancelled for a reason; people die playing this game."

"This is certainly no game," Hermione responded, "but there's also no choice. Binding magical contract."

"Listen, I'm not sure you understand all of the players here," Sirius countered. "Barty Crouch was on his way to being Minister of Magic before his wife died and he had to put his Death Eater son in prison, which he did without blinking an eye. Igor Karkaroff is a 'former' Death Eater," Sirius said, making quotes with his fingers at the word 'former.' "Ludo Bagman would be dangerous as hell if he hadn't taken too many Bludgers to the head. Now he's just an idiot and a compulsive gambler. I wouldn't put it past him to try and rig things to get a payday; get people to bet big on you and then get you planted so he can collect."

"Well, keeping with the game analogy, this is the hand we've been dealt," Harry answered. "And unfortunately I can't fold." Sirius seemed ready to open his mouth again, so Harry put his hand up to cut his godfather off. "I promise not to intentionally do anything exceedingly stupid. Risky? Sure. Logically questionable? Almost no doubt. Borderline illegal? I'll neither confirm nor deny. But I'll steer away from stupid. But I need you to do the same, Sirius. You came back to Britain for me, and I can't tell you what that means to me, but you're still a wanted man until we get our hands on Wormtail." Knowing the answer, he nonetheless asked the question. "Is there someplace you can stay while all of this is going on? I don't want you hiding in a cave for months on end if it can be helped."

"There's my family's house in London, I suppose. No telling what shape it's in, but with Mother's death it would have come to me."

Harry nodded before playing one of the cards he'd held up his sleeve; something to help both Sirius and a dear friend. "Do either of you know if house elves can get owl post?"

"I mean, they have names just like anyone else, so I'd imagine so," Remus answered.

"Harry, what are you thinking?" Hermione asked warily. She was still not sold on the house elf situation, but was trying to sublimate her knee-jerk reaction with information.

"Well, we happen to know two out-of-work house elves that would love a place that might need fixing up," Harry offered. "Sirius, do you have any issue with paying a free elf?"

"If the house is in as bad a shape as I imagine it's in, they'd earn every Knut," the Animagus answered.

"Send owls to a pair of elves named Dobby and Winky. Dobby was a Malfoy elf that I tricked Lucy into freeing, and Winky was Crouch's elf before he blamed her for casting the Dark Mark at the World Cup with my wand and freed her unjustly. I'm sure both would be willing to come work for you. Hell, make sure to mention you're my godfather and Dobby might work for free."

Sirius spent a moment just staring at his godson. "Your life really is one 'no one would believe this shit' story after another isn't it?"

"Godfather, you don't know the half of it."

* * *

A/N: As always, thanks for your favorites, follows, views, and reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Firsts

The Saturday of the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year dawned crisp and cold; it didn't stop Harry's palms from sweating. Today was his first date with Hermione and he was determined to have it go perfectly, or as perfectly as things could go in the nuthouse that was Harry Potter's life. He even scrubbed behind his ears when he took a shower and everything. He chose a simple outfit of navy blue slacks and a t-shirt underneath a warm woolen jumper in Gryffindor scarlet. He tucked his wand into a front pocket (Moody's warning that he'd blow a bum cheek off had stayed with him even 2+ years removed), grabbed his jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves, and headed downstairs to the Common Room. He tossed his unworn accoutrement on the back of one of the chairs in front of the fire and parked himself in said seat, his foot tapping nervously as he stared into the flickering flames thinking to himself while he waited for Hermione to come downstairs.

Harry had put decidedly more thought into this date than he had the exactly one other date he'd been on in his entire life. That had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions; wrong day (what fucking brain case has their first date _ever_ on Valentine's Day?), wrong place (Madame Ohmygodsomuchpink's or whatever it was), and definitely the wrong girl (it's not like there was anything wrong with playing tonsil hockey with the girlfriend of the guy you saw violently murdered not even a year before, right?). He'd been told that girls expected to do things outside of the normal 'Zonko's and Honeydukes before a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks' when it was a date, and so had looked over the Daily Prophet for the last two weeks for any mention of different things going on in Hogsmeade. He wasn't going to be caught dead in that tea shop again, though; he still had the occasional flashback to being pelted in the face with confetti. _That_ was a great look on a date.

It was an odd twist of Fate (whose asses he still intended to kick the next time he saw them) that the right girl happened to be who he ditched the wrong girl for that day, and who he now had his second first date with. He'd been giving it a lot of thought since he'd come back and had come to the conclusion that he was probably some mixture of completely oblivious and in denial about the nature of his relationship with Hermione Jean Granger, combined with the Horcrux buggering up that weird complementary color life thread thing Chloe had talked about when he'd been . . . wherever the hell he'd been. Looking back on his life he could see a bunch of examples of where something between them could have, perhaps even should have, sparked but didn't. Even as far back as first year: she had meant to say something else after 'friendship and bravery' when she'd hugged him before he'd gone after Quirrell, and Harry would bet his left nut that word had been 'love.' He remembered the way his stomach had dropped out when he'd found out Hermione had been Petrified, and how he couldn't get the image of her frozen body out of his mind, and how good he'd felt seeing her run toward him after she'd been cured. She'd helped him bend the laws of time and faced her almost crippling fear of heights in order to save Sirius. Both last time and this time she'd believed him and helped him train for the Tournament. His heart had threatened to shatter for those few moments before Neville told him that she was still breathing in the Department of Mysteries. The list went on. _I must be the daftest idiot in Britain_ Harry thought to himself looking back. _And I almost never thanked her. Never even properly acknowledged what she'd done. What she meant to me. Not again._

As he continued to wait he thought about what he would do when he saw Hermione. _Should I just say 'good morning' like I always do? Should I comment on how good she looks? Should I ask if she's excited? Should I outline my plans for the day so that she can veto anything she doesn't want to do? Should I have borrowed some of Seamus's product to try and keep my hair down? Should I have worn different shoes? Should I have gotten some flowers? Should I have planned a more intimate breakfast in the kitchens?_ So intent was he on watching the fire and thinking what else he could/would/should do when Hermione came downstairs that he missed the event entirely, the first indication being when a hand lightly touched his shoulder and he jumped a foot in the air, twisting mid-way and almost landing himself ass-first in the fireplace. His eyes were wide as saucers, his heart going a mile a minute as Hermione had to put both hands on the back of the chair to hold herself up as she laughed. "Oh that's just not fucking cricket," he exclaimed.

"Language, Harry," Hermione scolded, though there was still a smile on her face.

Composing himself, Harry crossed the short distance between them. "Uhhh . . . hi." _Smooth._

Hermione shook her head. "Good morning, Harry. Are you ready to go?"

"Absolutely," he replied before grabbing his things and offering her his arm.

{-}

"So what's the plan for today?" Hermione asked as the two of them rode in the thestral (which Harry could still see)-drawn carriage down to the village. He knew that on the bench across the way Lavender and Parvati were listening in while trying very hard to make it appear as if they weren't listening in.

"Oh, well . . . I was thinking that it might be nice to maybe do a little shopping first. I know you like looking around the bookstore, and I could use a few new quills. And maybe you'd . . . like to try and find some Christmas presents for your parents? Less than five shopping weeks left," Harry finished, feeling like a complete idiot for saying something so ridiculous. Hermione smiled at him, though, so he kept going. "Then I heard about this new restaurant on the far side of town. It's got some weird French name . . . Petty Assets or something like that?"

Hermione laughed. " _Petites Assiettes_ , Harry. It means 'little plates.' I heard Pearson in Third Year talking about it; I guess his mother and oldest brother are running it."

"Yeah, that's the one," he answered. "I thought it might be a nice change from the Three Broomsticks. Then, the local theater is doing a production called . . ." he pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket, " _Paradox of Choice_. No idea what it's about, but the name sounded cool."

"So, a bit of shopping, followed by lunch and a show?"

"Yep." He saw a look on her face he didn't recognize. "Is that alright?"

Hermione peered at him oddly for a few moments more, and Harry eerily felt like he was being weighed and measured. Eventually she nodded and with a smile responded, "That all sounds lovely, Harry."

Harry leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage, closed his eyes, and sighed in relief. _This should work out fine_ he thought.

With his eyes closed he didn't see Hermione's continued appraisal of him as they made their way down to the village.

{-}

"What the bloody buggering hell did we just watch?" Harry asked as he and Hermione left the theater.

"Language, Harry," Hermione said. "It was definitely . . . interesting."

"Did you understand what the guy with the horse floaty ring and wearing a shoe on his head was all about? 'Cuz I've got nothing."

"Well –"

"And did you understand what that old woman was screaming at the end?"

". . . it sounded like one of the Scandinavian languages."

"Okay, good, then I don't feel bad about not knowing. Still better than trying to read the menu at the restaurant." Hermione giggled as he mentioned the restaurant. "Oh, laugh it up. It's not my fault I got freaked out at my lunch."

"What were you expecting?"

"You told me it was fish; I was expecting a nice filet, maybe some chips on the side. What I wasn't expecting was for it to still have eyeballs! I mean, it was like it was staring at me. Judging me." This changed Hermione's giggle into a full-blown laugh, and Harry couldn't help but laugh with her. While the day hadn't been a disaster, it certainly hadn't gone the way he'd expected; Harry determined that, if there was a second date, he would do better about actually knowing what was coming as opposed to choosing the stuff that sounded suave, sophisticated, and/or expensive. Of course, there had to _be_ a second date first. "I had a really nice time today, Hermione."

"I did too, Harry."

"Do you think we could . . . maybe . . . make this a regular thing?"

"What? Me taking the micky out of you for being scared out of your wits by your food?"

"Cheeky. No, I mean . . . us . . . you and me . . . you know . . . dating and stuff."

Hermione stopped on the narrow street they were walking down and turned to face him. As happened every time he saw her, he once again heard her screams in Malfoy Manor, but now it seemed like he was hearing them from a distance. The same look of consternation from the carriage crossed her features again for a split second. _Daring and nerve_ Harry thought to himself as her screams were carried further away. "And I was wondering if you would . . . maybe . . . think about being my girlfriend." Hermione's eyes got wide for a second, and Harry found himself rambling. "Or not. We could try a few more dates and see if we have as much fun on them. Or we could stay just best friends. That'd be . . . fine . . . totally fine . . ."

Hermione shut him up by reaching a hand out, grabbing the back of his neck, and pulling him down into a kiss. As first kisses went most people would probably say it wasn't anything to write home about; no tongues, no roaming hands, nothing beyond their lips moving against each other gently. To Harry though it was like fireworks; sky blue and bright brilliant orange flickering behind his closed eyelids. Even better was that the moment her lips touched his the screams stopped, as if she herself had banished them away. Instead, The Monster roared in victory and satisfaction at the feel of her against him, one hand on her hip while the other raked its nails along the nape of her neck, eliciting almost a purr from her as they continued.

As their kiss ended and his eyes opened again he looked down at a smiling Hermione as she spoke. "That was . . ."

"Yeah. Bloody brilliant."

She pulled back and looked at him seriously. The bossiness of her tone in the comment that followed almost made Harry laugh; he might have if he didn't think she was being 100% serious. "First rule of being my boyfriend: curb the language."

"Aw sh . . . ugar I'm in trouble," Harry answered.

Hermione pulled him back down for another quick kiss. "Good boy."

"Thank you, Mistress," he responded before their lips locked once again.

{-}

Harry Potter hated a lot of things. Voldemort. Vacuuming. Umbridge. The 1980 Flash Gordon movie. Death Eaters. Olives. Nazis. Cold tea. The list went on and on.

At the moment though First Place for the 'Thing Harry Potter Despises Most in the World' trophy (which he was dubbing 'The Voldy') was his notoriety in the British wizarding world. Specifically, that any piece of information that popped up about him warranted column inches in the Daily Prophet; the juicier the news (or even supposed news; the Prophet was one step away from being The Sun, after all) the more inches it earned. And of course those inches in Sunday morning's Daily Prophet just had to be written by Ms. Rita Skeeter: society gossip monger, current dark horse runner-up for The Voldy (and ranking above the man who murdered your parents and hit you with the Killing Curse – twice - took some work), and all-around thorn in Harry's side. He had hoped that giving her a big story after the Weighing of the Wands would sate her more unsavory journalistic tendencies until at least after the First Task, and that the worst thing he'd have to deal with before Tuesday was seeing Hagrid chatting up Madame Maxime while he showed her (and Harry) the dragons being kept in the forest late the previous night.

A picture on the front page of Harry and Hermione kissing in Hogsmeade yesterday, which Harry wasn't even sure how she'd gotten, put paid to that. It wouldn't have been so bad if the headline 'Boy-Who-Lived-The-Life' hadn't been pasted above the photo in a font that could probably be seen from space. Rita had apparently decided that instead of characterizing him as a weepy child starved for attention and approval, as she'd done in his past life, that going down the opposite path and portraying him as Don Juan reborn would be the better play. On an intellectual level Harry couldn't blame her; sex sells better than tragedy, after all. But that didn't help the fact that the 'journalist' in question was – allegedly, of course, and always in a 'tasteful' manner - attaching him to a large number of females in the student body of Hogwarts.

His date with Hermione was mentioned in such great detail that she must have been following them in her Animagus form. _How did she even know where to find us? We weren't anywhere near the areas that students normally travel._ Harry sighed. _Should have worn fu . . . reaking bug spray._ Harry blinked. _Wow, even my internal monologue is censoring my cursing? Man, I've got it bad_. Skeeter went on to talk about how during the school week he and Hermione often went missing for hours at a time together and returned sweaty and exhausted but with satisfied smiles on their faces. _I mean that's true, but we weren't shagging; we were training for me to fight a . . . blanking dragon and the Death Eaters_. It also appeared as if someone had blabbed to Rita about both his and Hermione's blow ups at Ron in the Common Room the night they'd taken turns decking the ginger. Harry's encounter that day was classed as being 'like a virile cockerel staking his claim to a fertile hen,' while Hermione's secondary decking of Ron, plus her warning about what she'd do to him (and presumably any male other than Harry) if he touched her again, marked her as 'an alpha female wholly dedicated to her chosen wizard.'

If that had been all perhaps he would have been alright; he and Hermione had weathered similar in the previous timeline and could do so again. At least there was no mention of Hermione's flippant comments about dating whomever she wanted or asking out Viktor Krum; that would probably have had Rita casting Hermione in the role of harlot and seen letters coated in bubotuber pus headed her way again. The reporter had even scored perhaps half a point in her favor by using the same descriptor for Hermione as she did last time: _'a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.'_ _(1)_

But of course Rita didn't stop there; not by a long shot. Reading between the lines and through the innuendo, it would seem that Harry had been doing the entire Gryffindor Chaser line since some time the previous year, as evidenced by their actions in the Common Room the night they'd apologized to him. The girls were portrayed as 'very direct, very inventive, and _very_ enthusiastic;' apparently Harry had even had a wild orgy with them in the locker room showers after winning the Quidditch Cup last season. Not that he would have minded had that been true (hadn't he dreamed of something very similar that same night they'd apologized?), but society's double-standards would likely have the populace seeing the Chasers in a very negative light while at the same time calling Harry a stud.

After that the claims just got more outlandish and made Harry even angrier. Hannah Abbott's apology had morphed from an innocent, shy, embarrassed conversation in the Entrance Hall to a secret rendezvous behind a suit of armor in an out of the way alcove. _Yes our conversation took place next to a suit of armor, and yes I ducked behind it when we were done, but that's because it hides one of the shortcut secret passages up to the Seventh Floor. Hannah was already leaving when I did that._ Harry was reported as having introduced Ginny Weasley to the sins of the flesh in a tent at the Quidditch World Cup. _The girls had their own tent; I never even saw the inside of it! Do people really think Arthur Weasley would let his THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD daughter be alone with a boy in the next tent? Plus, wouldn't the mood have been ruined by oh, I don't know, THE FLIPPING DEATH EATER ATTACK?!_ Fleur Delacour hadn't been in the country 10 minutes before she had been introduced to 'proper British hospitality' courtesy of . . . surprise, surprise . . . Harry Potter. _All I did was pass her some Merlin-be-da . . . praised . . . soup!_ As far as Rita's article, and unfortunately via said article the rest of wizarding Britain, were concerned, when Harry Potter entered a room the panties of every woman under the age of 20 dropped faster than a busted racing broom.

There was one character attack, though, that shoved Harry's fury at the bleach blond bit . . . ter woman into the stratosphere. The skank ( _That word should be safe_ he thought) had managed to have a stab at the Quibbler by roping Luna into her luridly obscene fairy tale, claiming that the petite Ravenclaw was often found rubbing up on Harry in order to try and find a story good enough to drag her father's absurd publication into the mainstream. She'd morphed Luna's joining them at the table when he'd given his interview into the young woman trading her virtue for a headline, and her feeding him strawberries (which had happened on more than one occasion; apparently umgubular slashkilters were rampant this year) as a metaphor for . . . well, everyone could pretty much guess what for. Rita's libelous attacks about Luna 'playing with our saviour's heartstrings, amongst other body parts, to legitimize her family's outlandish claims and failing business' made Harry seriously consider _Accio'_ ing that cu . . . ounterproductive person into the enclosure during the First Task and using her as a snack to distract the Horntail.

He turned to his left, where Hermione was just finishing re-reading the article. "How can she get away with saying all of this stuff about _children_?"

"Unfortunately it would appear she is very good at her job," Hermione responded, and when Harry looked at her with a crinkled brow she clarified. "Well, she never outright says anything lurid or obscene, does she? She insinuates. She uses innuendo and hyperbole. She paints a vague picture and lets the reader draw their own conclusions. She skirts the line but doesn't cross it, at least not severely enough to earn a reprimand, but definitely enough to increase the Prophet's circulation. The Chasers had a 'private celebration' with you after winning the Cup. You showed Fleur 'how a proper wizard treats a beautiful woman.' Her line about Luna only implies sexual misconduct because our minds choose for it to; she could have meant, or rather could claim she meant, Luna was playing with your mind, or your foot for that matter. And while there was enough suggestive mentions between you and me to imply we've been . . ." she blushed, "intimate . . . on almost a nightly basis, the only overt and direct part of the article was the story about our date, and our kiss."

Harry sighed as the headache behind his eyes got worse. "Hermione, I am _so_ sorry for all of this."

He could tell she was upset, but she was taking it very stoically. "Why? You didn't write this, Harry, and I know none of this other rubbish is true. You couldn't have known she would do this."

Harry winced slightly, thinking that he actually very well _could_ have known, given his previous knowledge of Skeeter. "Still, Rita only said those things about you, about all of you, because of me. Because my name sells papers."

She answered in a low whisper so that only he could hear her. "The others are your friends, and know you did nothing to instigate this, Harry. They won't blame you. As for me . . ." she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "if this is the price I pay for us being together, I'm willing to pay it. What I'm more curious about is where she heard most of this from. It's been a week since the incidents in the Common Room, and Rita Skeeter doesn't seem like a woman who sits on a story." Hermione pondered for a moment. "The only thing that makes sense is that she met someone in Hogsmeade yesterday and they told her everything."

Harry was about to respond when the owls started flying into the Great Hall with the morning mail. He watched as a good number homed in on the people mentioned in the article, and some of the correspondence was obvious in its intent. "Hold that thought," he said before standing and drawing his wand. " _Accio_ Howlers!" he called out, and there were several squawks of indignation as the red envelopes were unceremoniously ripped from the owls that had been delivering them; the one that had been about to land in front of Hannah traveled almost two meters with its envelope before releasing it. With a Seeker's reflexes he plucked each one out of the air as it approached him and crushed them all in his hand. The entire Great Hall watched in fascination as Harry slammed the Howlers onto one of the golden serving plates, pointed his wand at them, and growled out an _Incendio_ before slamming a lid on the platter of burning letters, all the while staring down the table at his housemates. "Alright, which one of you gossipy whore . . . ible people is responsible for this?" he asked. He wasn't sure if Hermione would mind that word but decided to err on the side of caution. "Only a Gryffindor would have heard those fights, or seen Angelina, Alicia, and Katie's apology, so only a Gryffindor could have relayed all that to Skeeter. Anyone wanna fess up?" He kept his eyes moving up and down the table, looking for any tells by the guilty party. Seeing the head down, hands in the lap, and eye contact avoidance he was looking for, he left his spot by Hermione and walked over to who was most likely the culprit, the muffled screams of the conflagrated hate mail loud enough for a good portion of the table to hear. The people nearby his target made space, and he sat down. "Would you like to explain, Lavender?" He saw the normally bubbly girl cringe at his question so he softened his approach. "Look, I'm sorry I got angry; I hope you understand why I was, and am, though." She nodded fervently, still not raising her head. "But why?"

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. Parvati and Lily Moon and I ran into Rita Skeeter in the Three Broomsticks. You know how I love her column, so I really wanted to talk to her. Maybe impress her, right? I mean, she's a good person to know if you want to get into that business. So we got to talking, and even after the other two left she kept buying me butterbeers and asking me questions. And I just kept answering them, that damnable green quill scribbling next to her the entire time. I didn't even realize what I had told her until she bolted out of the pub after I'd mentioned what I knew about yours and Hermione's date."

Harry sighed deeply; given what he knew about how Rita had gotten Dumbledore's secrets out of Bathilda Bagshot, he had a probable cause of Lavender's looser-than-normal tongue. It was more than likely that a few relatively innocent stories, combined with some liquid assistance (and not the alcoholic type), were embellished by Rita and that Quick-Quotes Quill of hers and _voila,_ front page byline. "It's alright, Lavender. Rita's very good at getting information out of people; I wouldn't be surprised if she put a drop or two of Veritaserum in your drink while you weren't looking." Lavender's face changed from apologetic to apoplectic, and Harry rested a hand on her shoulder. "We'll get her somehow, Lavender, but charging off won't fix anything." He looked toward the rest of the table. "First and last warning, though, to all of you. My private life is just that; private. I forgive Lavender because I think she was manipulated by that biiiiiiiimmmbo," Harry caught himself at the last moment, "but if I find out that anything about me makes it back to Skeeter or the Prophet voluntary, I'll fu . . . oul you up beyond all recognition." Seeing nods of acceptance from the majority of the table, Harry stood to return to Hermione.

As he did, though, he noticed one more owl entering the Great Hall, and all he could do was close his eyes, tilt his head up to the heavens, and sigh deeply. _Errol_ Harry said to himself. _This should be good._ Molly Weasley had believed Rita's articles about Hermione the last time through, though hadn't been angry enough to send a Howler then; she'd been more of the passive-aggressive type. Of course, now Skeeter had implied that Harry was sleeping with not only Hermione but the Chasers, Hannah, Luna, Fleur, and even Molly's own daughter, so it shouldn't really be surprising. He opened his eyes expecting the aged bird of prey to make its way toward him, followed shortly by a tinnitus-causing verbal assault by the Weasley matriarch about his despoiling of her daughter, defiling of innocent girls, bringing shame on his ancestors, etc., etc.

And so his surprise was complete when Errol instead took a nose dive in a different trajectory, wings and legs everywhere as he crashed into the table and the red envelope was dislodged, landing in front of its recipient. Before Harry could raise his wand to Summon the letter it had already been picked up and flipped open.

 _No. If there is anyone in the universe that_ doesn't _deserve a Howler . . ._

Harry's thoughts were ignored by the universe, however. The letter jumped from the girl's hands and floated not 2 feet in front of her face as the angry mother's voice radiated out at jet engine-level decibels for all the Hall to hear.

"LUNA PANDORA LOVEGOOD YOU SHAMELESS HUSSY! HOW DARE YOU USE OUR HARRY LIKE THAT?! YOU DISPICABLE GIRL! I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT! AND YOUR MOTHER WOULD BE SO ASHAMED OF –"

That was as far as the tirade got before a blue bolt of light impacted the envelope, the Reductor Curse silencing the Howler by the simple expedient of disintegrating it. Harry was next to Luna an instant later, and in his peripheral he saw Hermione and Ginny approaching at speed from the Gryffindor table. He sat down and for the first time saw Luna with an expression that he'd never seen on her before and never wanted to see again.

Disbelief.

On most people a look of disbelief would be innocuous, perhaps even amusing. But on the face of a girl who willingly and happily believed in the most unbelievable things, and had believed _him_ when almost no one else did, it was akin to what he would have imagined had he been asked to describe the facial features of 'suicidal.' He rested his hand on her shoulder gently as she stared straight ahead, silver eyes blinking over and over. He blatantly ignored the images The Bill flashed in front of him as Luna spoke in a quiet voice.

"That's the first letter I've ever gotten from someone except Daddy," she began almost mechanically. "I knew it was Errol; I've known the Weasleys all my life. I've spent so many Summer afternoons playing with Ginny in their back garden; Mrs. Weasley would always invite me to stay for dinner. Said I was too thin and I'd float away in a strong breeze. She baked us a blackberry pie after Mum died. It was her favorite." She turned to look at him and as her voice broke so did his heart. "Why, Harry? Why would she say those things? Why would she say Mum . . ." she couldn't finish, and Harry didn't ask her to, instead wrapping her in his arms as she burrowed her face into his chest. He could feel her shaking. _Luna probably could have taken hearing anything else in that Howler. Every other foul, disgusting thing Molly could think of would have flowed off her like water off a duck. But Molly found her Achilles Heel and drove the arrow deep. Maybe by happenstance, maybe intentionally. Doesn't really matter, I guess; the effect is the same._ Harry hadn't thought it was possible, but there was a new frontrunner for The Voldy and her name was Molly Weasley.

His thoughts of retribution stopped as the other two girls arrived, Hermione gently rubbing circles on the diminutive blonde's back while Ginny took over 'shoulder to cry on' duties from Harry. He took a moment to look around, seeing a bunch of people gossiping about the morning's events but more than a few of the Ravenclaws looking at the quartet. He felt the need to lay down the law with them the same as he had his fellow Gryffindors. "The first one of you who tries to use this to attack, belittle, or bully Luna is going to find me waiting for them, and you will _not_ enjoy how that encounter ends. Am I understood?" His eyes burned with the fire of righteous fury, but even without that his tone left no room for interpretation and no doubt what would happen to them if they found him waiting. A series of quickly nodding heads confirmed he'd been understood. That settled, he turned to help Ginny and Hermione basically carry Luna out of the Hall. He didn't know what additional rumors this would cause and he really didn't care; his priority was helping his obviously hurting friend.

Ginny, however, felt something else take precedence. As they reached the staircase she said to them, "I need to do something real quick. Where will you guys be?"

Hearing where she was headed had Harry grinning before he answered. "There'll be a door on the Seventh Floor, across from the tapestry of a wizard trying to teach trolls to dance. We'll be in there." The redhead nodded before hurrying off on her mission, one Harry wholeheartedly approved of.

After all, winning First Place deserved a prize.

{-}

Molly and Arthur had just sat down to dinner when a barn owl swooped into the Burrow's window and dropped an envelope on the table with the precision of an RAF bomber pilot before pulling up hard, wings pumping energetically as it sought to escape what it knew was coming.

Before Molly or Arthur had a chance to do anything the missive exploded into action. It leaped off the table, Ginny's magnified voice shaking the Burrow's rafters.

"MOTHER I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE DISAPPOINTED IN OR DISGUSTED WITH ANOTHER HUMAN BEING, AND I HAD YOU-KNOW-WHO PLAYING AROUND IN MY HEAD FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR! WHAT DID YOU THINK GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO SAY THOSE TERRIBLE THINGS TO LUNA?! BRINGING HER DEAD MOTHER INTO IT?! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SHE STILL WORSHIPS MRS. LOVEGOOD. THAT WAS A LOW BLOW, EVEN FOR YOU.

"AND IF YOU BELIEVED THAT TRIPE ABOUT LUNA YOU HAD TO BELIEVE THE REST OF IT, RIGHT? THAT I SLEPT WITH HARRY AT THE WORLD CUP? EVEN IF I FANCY THE IDEA OF, MAYBE, LOSING MY VIRGINITY TO HARRY SOMEDAY, DO YOU REALLY THINK I'D WANT THAT TO HAPPEN AT 13 IN A TENT THAT SMELLED LIKE WET CATS WITH MY FATHER AND ALL MY BROTHERS AND A HUNDRED THOUSAND OTHER PEOPLE NOT 10 FEET AWAY?! DO YOU REALLY THINK SO LITTLE OF HARRY? DO YOU REALLY THINK SO LITTLE OF _ME_?! YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO ASK ME OR LUNA OR HARRY IF _ANYTHING_ THAT MISERABLE SHREW SKEETER WROTE THIS MORNING WAS IN ANY WAY TRUE WHICH, ASIDE FROM HARRY AND HERMIONE'S DATE AND THEM DECKING RON, IT WAS NOT I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW! NO, YOU BEHAVED LIKE A CRAZY WOMAN JUST LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO AND LEFT A GIRL YOU'VE KNOWN SINCE SHE WAS BORN PSYCHOLOGICALLY SCARRED AND EMOTIONALLY DESTROYED.

"SO I WILL SAVE YOU SOME EFFORT MOVING FORWARD: DO NOT WRITE ME OR LUNA OR HERMIONE OR HARRY. DO NO BOTHER TO SEND CHRISTMAS PRESENTS; THEY'LL JUST GET TOSSED IN THE FIRE. NONE OF US WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU UNTIL YOU GET ON YOUR KNEES IN FRONT OF LUNA AND TELL HER HOW SORRY YOU ARE AND HOW WRONG YOU WERE TO SAY THAT HER MUM WOULD BE ASHAMED OF HER. YOU WILL BEG HER TO FORGIVE YOU, AND WHETHER SHE DOES OR NOT WILL DETERMINE IF ANY OF US EVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN."

Its message delivered, the letter shredded itself into confetti and floated down onto a Molly Weasley who had been blown backwards onto the floor under the raw power and emotion that Ginny had poured into the Howler.

"Molly, what did you _do_?" was all Arthur could manage in the wake of the long-distance bollocking that had just been administered by his youngest child. He had a feeling he was not going to like the answer, but he'd have to wait a while for it anyway. For the first time in 25 years of marriage, his wife had been struck speechless.

{-}

Unfortunately the only way Harry managed to get the girls out of the funk about Molly's Howler to Luna was to put them in a funk about what he'd have to face in the First Task. He wasn't sure how much of Hermione's 'I'm going to Stick you to a chair and park myself on your lap until after the Task so that you don't have to fight a dragon' strategy was tongue in cheek and how much of it was honest thought, but it seemed to win the support of the other two. Him stating that he had a plan was met with doubtful gazes which, while deserved given his track record, he didn't really appreciate. Then he told them his plan and he _really_ felt unappreciated.

"You call that a plan? That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" was Ginny's initial response. Then she heard his Plan B and it didn't get much better from there. "Okay, nevermind. _That's_ the dumbest thing I've ever heard. That'll never work! It's . . . it's . . . Hermione help me out here."

"Perhaps not well thought out," Hermione injected, which in Hermione-speak was 'I can't believe how much of a moron you are for even thinking that had a snowball's chance in Hell of ever working.'

Luna barked out a laugh. The others looked over at the blonde, shoulders that had just a bit ago been shaking in sadness now doing so in mirth. Eventually she couldn't help it anymore and started outright cackling at Harry's plan. "It's genius," she said when she'd finally managed to catch her breath. The other two girls looked at the Ravenclaw like she'd grown a second head which, granted, wasn't that uncommon an occurrence (the look, not the head growing) but usually for a different reason. "Well, think about it. I guarantee you neither judges nor the other Champions have thought of it, and it's not only elegant in its simplicity but so dim-witted that it actually has a good chance of working."

"Oi!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah, but . . ." Hermione began to protest.

"We all know Harry. It's either this or doing something even more insane like trying to outmaneuver a dragon on his broomstick or something like that." Harry winced. _That hit kinda close to home._ "Which would you prefer he do, Hermione? Ginny?" Neither girl had anything better than the stick-him-to-a-chair strategy, and so Harry's (debatably) most asinine plan to-date was given the green light. It wasn't the only plan they agreed to that night, though he had no trouble gaining approval for the second once they heard the target.

{-}

Later that night in the Common Room Harry found the last piece he needed for the after-Task entertainment.

{-}

Tuesday at lunchtime found Harry at the Gryffindor table with Hermione attached to his left hip, Luna to his right, and Ginny across from him. Various other friends filled in around providing support to their Champion, but it was these three that had barely let him out of their sight for the last two days, since they were the ones that knew what he was going up against. He really appreciated their concern but he actually thought he was going to be fine. Granted, going one-on-one with a 4-story tall, 1500 kilo, magic-resistant, fire-breathing set of teeth with wings wasn't something one should do on a lark. And it lent itself to a host of unexpected possibilities of death and dismemberment. And he had to factor in the fact that it was _him_ and all the messed-up stuff that that entailed. And his entire strategy basically revolved around what was more or less a prank. And if Plans A and B didn't work Plan C was to outfly a dragon again, or more accurately _try_ to outfly a dragon again . . .

Harry pushed his plate away as his stomach gave a warning gurgle. Okay, so maybe he _should_ worry just a little bit.

"Finally figured it out, have you?" Hermione asked after seeing what he'd done. Harry glared for a moment until he saw how much it was costing her to try and be glib, and so he softened his gaze and kissed her on the forehead. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight.

It seemed no time at all before Professor McGonagall approached and told him that it was time to head down with the other Champions. He stood to raucous applause from those around him and received a truly spectacular kiss from Hermione. "You come out of this in one piece and they'll be more where that came from," she whispered quietly to him as they hugged.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, getting a small smile out of her before he had to head down to the enclosure where the dragons were being kept. As before, McGonagall escorted him down to the tent and her anxiety was there for all to see. She tried to reassure him, and he was able to appreciate her concern more this time now that he wasn't in the grip of gonad-crushing fear about what was to come. Perhaps only gonad-squeezing-just-enough-to-be-painful-but-some-guys-kinda-like-that fear.

The events in the Champions' tent passed in a blur; Harry knew that he had once again drawn the Horntail and last position, and he had the unfortunate pleasure of listening to Ludo Bagman's ridiculous commentary as the other three Champions went up against their own dragons. He remembered that Cedric had transfigured a dog for the dragon to attack, Fleur had tried to Charm her dragon to sleep, and Krum had just shot his in the face and followed wherever that road led him. _What in Merlin's name did Hermione ever see in that guy? Shot his dragon in the face, couldn't Transfigure himself fully in the lake, goes to a school that_ teaches _Dark Arts and can't throw off an_ Imperius _, couldn't even pronounce her name right . . ._ Okay, maybe Harry was being a bit petty, but Hermione and he were together now, and he had no intention of letting the Bulgarian Bon-Bon anywhere near his best friend. Practicing his intimidating glare for if Krum ever approached Hermione occupied the rest of his time until the whistle blew and it was time for him to do his thing.

As before, Harry entered the enclosure from the tunnel to see a large mostly cleared area of the Forest surrounded by a wooden palisade. Stands had been erected around the outside and were full of cheering students and other spectators. And across the way, crouched protectively over her nest, were the shiny black scales and glaring yellow eyes of the Hungarian Horntail. Its tail moved menacingly back and forth, digging long furrows in the soft earth. Harry took a deep breath as he stopped just outside the tunnel, looked around, and then raised his arms up high. The crowd cheered louder in anticipation.

Harry's wand hand came down. " _Accio_ Golden Egg," he said simply. No one was more surprised than him when the clue flew out of the nest and straight into his waiting hands. All the cheering and jeering instantly died; for a moment Harry wasn't sure if anyone in the stands was breathing. Even the dragon had loosened its threatening posture as it gaped at him in shock.

"Huh," was all he could manage. Holding his prize in his hand, Harry immediately turned and headed back up the tunnel.

{-}

Despite Karkaroff docking Harry points for 'not putting on a show,' the speed and effectiveness of his successful retrieval meant that the (properly chagrined) judges couldn't award him anything other than First Place. A few announcements to the Champions and Harry departed the tent. He found Hermione waiting for him and pulled her into an eager kiss. "I can't believe that worked," she said as they broke apart.

"I told you. Genius," he responded.

"Actually, Luna told me," she quipped back.

"Whatever. Let's head up to the Common Room; I'll bet the Twins are putting something together as we speak." Hand in hand, the two made their way back toward the castle. They'd just rounded a copse of trees when they experienced an encounter Harry remembered from his first pass; Rita Skeeter popped out from the brush to stand right in front of them.

" _Congratulations, Harry!" she said, beaming at him. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word?" (1)_

"Rita!" Harry said in a happy tone. "How good of you to show up and congratulate me. Though, won't it just give substance to the rumors?"

"Rumors, Harry?" she asked sweetly.

"Oh, right, I forgot," he replied, snapping his fingers. "The Quibbler doesn't come out until Thursday. Yes, the rumors. That, in addition to my escapades with many of the women of Hogwarts, I have been found to woo the occasionally older witch. It would seem you, Miss Skeeter, have been carrying on a torrid love affair with an underage wizard and are secretly carrying my love child. Well, I guess not so secretly when the story breaks." He shrugged and looked over at his girlfriend. "Hermione, as 'an alpha female wholly dedicated to her chosen wizard,' is very understanding. After all, she knows that it's my deepest wish to have a family, and now I don't have to wait. Isn't that great?" He smiled wide, though it was more the look of a predator than a proud father-to-be.

Rita's eyes widened as a single bead of sweat dripped from her brow. "The people will never believe such a thing!" she finally managed.

"Oh, I don't know, Rita," Harry purred as he stepped closer to her. She reflexively took a step back. "They believed that nonsense you said about me on Sunday, didn't they? At least if all the Howlers and other hate mail are to be believed. What's one more woman in the Potter Harem?" He continued pushing Rita until she was backed up to a tree, and both of his hands found their way onto the trunk on either side of her head. "Besides," he whispered, "I've got art."

A flash interrupted the moment, and when Skeeter got over her shock Harry was no longer in front of her. Instead, he was standing over to the side, 2 blondes and a brunette at his side. That taller, older blonde had a camera in her hand. "Got all of that Lavender? Luna?"

"Of course, Harry," Luna replied, the feral look on her face enough to cause shivers down the sturdiest man's spine. "Several photos by the Quibbler's newest investigative reporter, Lavender Brown, of your secret mistress meeting you in a secluded spot after the Task, away from any other adult supervision so as to maintain her secret, thanking Merlin that you were safe and that her child would grow up knowing their father. The coup-de-grace being a shot of her pushed up against a tree begging to be taken by her young lover."

"And then when she shockingly reveals to me that she managed to get on the grounds, not to mention half of her stories, because she is an unregistered Animagus, I just couldn't take the lies anymore. It was that final betrayal by the woman who taught me, a bright-eyed, innocent boy of fourteen, the ways of carnal love that convinced me that I only ever needed one woman in my life." He kissed Hermione's forehead before turning back to the reporter.

"That's a career ender, Rita," Hermione offered. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not, or how much your editors permit and even encourage your muck-raking; a scandal like this will be the end of you. You'd be damaged goods. When this gets out you won't be able to get a job writing the classifieds at Quidditch Weekly."

"You'd never let that happen. You'd be on the hook just as much as I would," she said, indicating Harry.

"Probably. But there's two things about that. First, I'm young and not world-wise; it would be easy to state that I was led astray by an older, more experienced authority figure. I'd be back in the public's good graces inside of a year." _Believe me, I know from experience._ Harry's eyes shimmered in barely contained anger as he continued. "And even if that failed, I'm more than willing to burn my public image down to the foundations if it means I take you with me. I have resources and options; how much do you have in the bank, Rita? Go ahead and test me; I guarantee you my will is stronger than yours."

Rita fumed, but she knew they had her over a barrel. "What will it take to make sure those photos and that story never see the light of day?"

"It's very simple, Rita. Stay out of my private life, and that of my friends. Report about the Tournament, or anything else that happens before the public at large. If it's seen by the masses feel free to write about it. But any more hints, insinuations, accusations, innuendos, or outright lies will see these photos shipped to every major magical news outlet in the civilized world, not to mention the DMLE and Child Protective Services, along with a personal statement from me. Do we have a deal?" Harry asked, holding out his hand.

Rita's jaw tightened, but she stepped forward and took it with her own.

{-}

The party in the Gryffindor Common Room had been going for the better part of 3 hours; the Twins had not only raided the kitchens but had pulled several cases of butterbeer from somewhere.  
There were even a few bottles of ginger wine making the rounds, though that was mostly restricted to the upper years. Harry had been glad-handed, back-slapped, and/or hugged by everyone in Gryffindor at least once, though Romilda Vane had tried on no less than 5 occasions to sneak her way into his arms; it was obvious she too believed Rita's story from the weekend and was trying to weasel her way onto the list. She'd only stopped when Hermione had tapped the younger girl's nose with her wand and asked her where she wanted the first wart, on her nose or on her bum. Romilda had made herself scarce after that.

Finally things seemed to be winding down. There were still classes tomorrow, after all, and dinner would be starting shortly. As people started to peel away, Hermione grabbed Harry by the wrist. "Come with me," she said simply as she started dragging him through the Portrait Hole to loud applause and wolf whistles. Harry offered no resistance, allowing Hermione to lead him to the Room of Requirement. She paced in front of the door three times and then stepped through without waiting for Harry. _Well, she did promise there'd be more where that kiss came from_ he thought to himself. Whatever he had been expecting, though, it wasn't what he found.

The room was very simple. A fireplace crackled along the far wall, with two cushioned chairs sitting across from each other with a low table in between. Hermione was stopped behind one of them, her hand on the back as she stared into the fire. Harry walked over toward her, but she turned before he reached her. She grabbed the front of his robes with both hands and pulled him down for a kiss, which he eagerly returned. As they broke apart she spoke for the first time since leaving the Common Room. "Harry, you know that no matter what I'll always be your best friend, right?"

Harry didn't like how that sounded, and it showed in the tremor in his voice. "Yyeeaaahhh . . . Hermione, what's wrong?"

She let go of his robes and took a step back. "Now that the First Task is over and you can afford to worry about other things and I feel like I can distract you without worrying for your life, I just . . . I need to know, Harry. How far?"

Harry blinked. "How far? How far do I . . . like . . . want to go with you?"

She shook her head sadly. "No Harry," she replied as she looked up at him. "How far back in time did you travel?"

{-}

The chair Thandie had been leaning back in tipped, sending her and her bowl of popcorn crashing to the ground in Theia's house. "Oh fuck."

* * *

A/N: (1) denotes a direct quote from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ (J.K. Rowling, 2000)

I honestly have no idea where most of this chapter came from. As with most of my writing, I knew where I wanted to start and where I wanted to end, and the middle just kind of happened.

The whole 'can't Summon the Egg' thing is a common fanon plot device that I seriously toyed with following. My first draft had an elaborate idea which involved conjured anacondas, _Imperio_ 'd canaries carrying Ton-Tongue Toffee and a particularly energetic Niffler (which was Harry's Plan B, BTW). But I like the idea of everyone overthinking it, and there being an amazingly simple solution when all of the Champions did off-the-wall shit. In the book none of the Champions tried just Summoning the egg, so who's to say if it would have worked or not? There are several instances where it's made patently obvious that most wizards couldn't logic or common sense themselves out of a paper bag. I like the symmetry of the judges overthinking keeping the egg from the Champions and the Champions overthinking how to get to the egg, with Harry following the Occam's Razor approach.

The guy Harry mentions in the play is a shoutout to the classic Far Side comic _How Nature Says "Do Not Touch"_ by Gary Larson. The old woman screaming in Scandinavian . . . yeah, your guess is as good as mine.

I finally managed to get Third Year Pearson in there again.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Don't Stop Believin' . . . err, I mean . . . Do Start Believin'

* * *

Harry just stood there gaping like a trout on a hook.

"Honestly, Harry," she said with a definite 'harumph' in her voice, her eyes rolling as her fists went to her hips, "it's not like it took a genius to figure it out. Even if we hadn't spent nearly every waking moment together for the past 3 weeks, you've been my best friend for three years now. Well, three years for me; I'm not sure how long for you. Did you really think I wouldn't notice something was different about you? You came back sometime between going to bed on Halloween and me coming to get you in your room the day after."

"How . . . What . . . When . . . Where . . ." Harry stuttered.

"Well that covers most of the interrogatives," Hermione quipped, though the grammar humor was completely lost on Harry. "I'll admit, some of it only made sense when taken in the context of you having come back in time." Hermione walked toward the fireplace and started pacing while her hands came from her sides and she started counting on her fingers.

"Your comment when I first saw you of 'couldn't do one more . . . day,'" she started, not using the expletive Harry had.

"Your reactions to seeing Hedwig and Sirius. You've _never_ been that emotive, Harry, except when you're angry. I'm assuming something terrible happened to both of them."

"Your seemingly instantaneous improvement both in study habits and spellcasting; I'll bet you didn't even notice that you've been casting a lot of spells nonverbally during our sparring."

"Your 'new' friendship with Luna, and how much she almost instantaneously meant to you, when you've never gone out of your way to even talk to other people, let alone befriend them in the matter of an afternoon. And that even applies to our own house; as a Ravenclaw a year below us I'd be hard-pressed to figure out how you would have even _met_ her. Plus her comment about the . . . wrack . . . wrack-whatevers 'telling you about her'" she said in air quotes. "Somehow you already knew her, and while her explanation to herself about some imaginary creature revealing her life story to you might work for her, I don't buy it."

"Instead of yelling at or cursing Malfoy you tore him down verbally, which we both know is not your strong suit. Then you turned his prank with the badges back on him, which would have taken days of planning and research to do. How could you have possibly known what he was up to; I hadn't heard a peep, and we're together almost all the time?" Hermione put on a contemplative countenance. "In fact, pretty much everything to do with Draco is different than I would have expected of you."

"Speaking of Draco, just happening to know the spell to shrink teeth? It's almost like what happened to me had happened before, and just like with the prank you were prepared in advance."

"Let's not forget your complete lack of surprise regarding the dragons, and already having plans to deal with them the same day you 'found out,' and those plans having _nothing_ to do with anything we practiced for the last 3 weeks."

"And just how _did_ you know that Rita was an unregistered Animgaus? The others might have been too focused on revenge to notice that comment, but I didn't."

"Even your speech patterns have changed, with all the swearing, the monologuing to Draco and the House tables when you were angry, and the," she blushed, "the flirting."

She stopped pacing and turned toward him, and the look in her eyes melted his heart. "But more than anything else is your behavior toward me." She took a deep breath and mustered her Gryffindor courage as she continued. "Now that we're together I'll admit that I've had a crush on you for a while, probably since that first hug when we went after the Stone. I'd always hoped . . . maybe . . . one day . . . to be able to show you that I'm a girl." Harry's eyes got wide at that statement and Hermione snapped her fingers. "You know what I meant. Mind out of the gutter, Potter," she said commandingly. "As I was saying, I had hoped to tell you that I was interested in you as more than a best friend. But then, seemingly out of the blue, _you_ asked _me_ out. I know that how you were raised hasn't been the best, and that would likely delay when you would start looking at girls . . . that way. And I was content to wait and see."

"But you looked at me on the First and there was such a mixture of emotions in your eyes. Pain. Hope. Sorrow. Happiness." Hermione gulped and her face reddened further. "Maybe . . . maybe even . . ." She cleared her throat and then started up again. "But there were others, too; there was such a storm in your eyes, like seeing me was both a blessing and a curse."

"All of sudden you thought you have been a terrible friend. You said 'lead on, MacDuff,' and I know I've never said that to you before. It's too much of a coincidence that it's something my father always says. You wanted to know everything about me, my parents, and my childhood. Your reaction when Malfoy had me in that hallway. The way that, for you, that was so simple; he had hurt me, so you hurt him."

"Heck, you actually _planned_ a date in Hogsmeade, when you and I both know you've never planned a thing in your life."

"None of that is indicative of the scared, lost, and confused 14-year-old Harry Potter that I last saw walking into the antechamber with the other Champions on Halloween, and changes like that don't just occur overnight. Which leads to the conclusion that you're either someone pretending to be Harry Potter or you're a . . . different . . . Harry Potter."

She suddenly straightened. "I know you're you; your oath in the Great Hall would have killed you if you were an imposter." She walked back over to him and took his hands in her own. "More than that though, I know it's you because I can _feel_ you." Her brow furrowed. "I've always been able to, but it was . . . cloudy . . . murky . . . for a long time. But I saw you in your bed that morning and something clicked inside of me, and all of a sudden it was clear and you were clear and . . . and you sang out to me. I don't know how else to explain it." She reached up and gently cupped his cheek as their eyes met. "The only reasonable explanation is that you are Harry Potter: my best friend, my new boyfriend, the boy I . . ." Hermione gulped. "That day you saved me from Malfoy you said I was the most important person in the world to you." She moved in even closer, her eyes never leaving his. "Did you mean that?"

Harry's brain was still somewhere between meltdown and reboot, so he still couldn't find the mental bandwidth to engage his vocal cords. All he could do was nod. "Something else 14-year-old you wouldn't have been able to figure out yet, and even if he had would never have admitted to." She leaned up and kissed him softly. "You're the most important person in the world to me, too."

Harry thought he had finally regained the power of speech when he felt her legs give out and she sagged in his arms. He instinctively tightened his grip on her as he brought her gently to the ground. Her eyes had become glassy. "Hermione?" He shook her. Nothing. "Hermione!"

{-}

Thandie crashed into the Tapestry Room, the just-recently-repaired doors banging against their respective walls much like they had a few weeks prior, though this time the force she exerted on them wasn't due to anger but to . . . well, alright, there was a bit of anger. There was also fear, along with surprise, urgency, and uncertainty. Hermione had figured out her Champion had traveled back in time. Not surprising, since she really was a very bright young woman. But being bright and being observant did not always coincide; they just happened to in Hermione Granger.

Her fear at the moment, though, wasn't the fact that Hermione knew but was fear for Hermione herself. The 'can't tell anyone ever' rule had been The Sisters' idea, not hers; as far as Thandie was concerned if Harry was comfortable enough to want to stick his Tab P into someone's Slot V or M or even A (Thandie of all people didn't discriminate; any of those slots were all good in her book) then Thandie felt that they deserved to have no secrets between them. Additionally, she felt that it was unfair of the Fates to saddle Harry with something that big that he'd have to carry alone forever.

If she knew Attie half as well as she thought she did, there might not be a whole lot of time to waste. Attie, as one of the oldest among them, was a huge stickler for The Rules; it was a wonder that she'd been convinced to go along with this plan at all. Even then it was probably only because the Horcruxes had fucked up the Tapestry, and for the first time in human history Attie couldn't snip a soul; it had nothing to do with setting the mortal world to rights and everything with giving her back her power. Otherwise, Attie had a rather simplistic outlook on the breaking of The Rules; that outlook was 'you break them and you will probably not live to regret it.' Hence the door slamming.

Thandie was just in time, too. As she sprinted into the room she saw the Fate that had been nicknamed 'The Inflexible One' with her shears in one hand, a bright orange thread in the other. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" she screamed at the oldest of the Moirae.

"What needs to be done," Attie answered. "The girl knows. That is unacceptable."

"Why?" Thandie shot back angrily. "Why is that unacceptable?"

Attie opened her mouth to respond but immediately closed it again. I few more attempts met the same roadblock. ". . . cuz . . ." the Fate finally responded meekly, and she seemed suddenly unsure of herself. "That was the rule; no one can find out."

"You were also the one who said he could have a rewarding relationship with her. And now that they've started down that road you just want to snip her?"

"The Rules –"

"Oh, fuck The Rules!" Thandie said in exasperation. "There hasn't been a Champion on Earth in I don't know how long. You and your sisters have _never_ had a Champion. We are playing this entire thing by ear." Thandie let out a long breath. "She's good for him. In fact, I'd go so far to say that she's a perfect match for him; their strands would certainly indicate that," Thandie offered, pointing at the thread still in Attie's grasp. "Plus, she has the potential to be just as powerful and influential. You can't just kill her." _Not to mention the fact that if you do Harry will almost certainly find a way to come back here and give you the red-headed stepchild treatment, even if he has to pull a Heracles to do it_ Thandie thought to herself.

Attie considered Thandie's words for a long time before releasing Hermione's thread and putting her shears away. "Alright, we'll do this your way. For now." Thandie's smile only increased Attie's scowl. "But she needs to be educated. She needs to understand."

"I'll take care of that," Death replied, the wheels already turning as to how to facilitate that.

"Oh _great_ ," Attie sighed, able to keep neither the sarcasm nor the resignation out of her voice. "Why do I get the feeling that _more_ rules are about to be broken?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Thandie winked as she spun on her heel and headed back out the door. As she departed she fired one last salvo. "Piece of advice though. Don't like it? Don't watch."

{-}

"Katie!" Thandie yelled into the cottage.

"Busy!" came a hoarse reply from the back of the building.

Knowing she was kind of on the clock, Thandie dispensed with decorum and followed the voice to its source. She burst into the bedroom, not at all caring that her friend was completely naked with another likewise naked person with their head between her thighs.

Nothing she hadn't seen before.

"Damnit Thandie I said I was busy!" Katie half-yelled, half moaned.

"Sorry." She really wasn't."But I need a favor."

"I'm pretty sure you're . . . merciful Chronos, right there . . . all out of favors," came the breathless response.

"Katie, this is life and death."

"Uuuggghhh. Fine," the woman responded, smacking her paramour on the back of the head to get him to stop what he was doing. She quickly got up and put on a robe before pointing at her lover. "You, stay right there." She pointed at Thandie. "You, living room."

The two of them made their way into the other room before Thandie explained her problem and what she needed. "That's kind of a tall order, Thandie," Katie said after a moment. "And you're going to need more than a bit of Tunie's mojo to make it work."

"Fine, fine," Thandie said in a rush. "How long will I have?"

"Well, even if Attie keeps her trap shut someone will notice eventually and blow their stack, and I'm sure as shit not taking the fall for you." Katie tapped her lips. "I can say I was distracted by . . . other things," she nodded toward the bedroom, "and wasn't paying attention. But that means I can only give you until I'm done with what I'm going to resume when I go back in the bedroom."

"Oh, good, so I should have plenty of time then." She knew that Glik _really_ got into it.

{-}

Hermione's eyes cleared and she shook her head to try and get the cobwebs out. She realized she was on the floor cradled in Harry's arms, worried green eyes boring into hers. "I'm okay, I think. It was the weirdest sensation, like someone ran cold electricity up my spine. I was suddenly faint and my vision got really really fuzzy around the edges for a while there, too. And . . ."

"And?"

"And I swear I saw . . ." Hermione paused, trying to wrap her head around what she'd seen. It had been so _real_.

"Hermione? What did you see?" Harry asked curiously.

She looked at Harry like she knew before she said anything that he wasn't going to believe her. "A . . . a woman with red hair. But not your mother," she finished quickly, seeing the look that came over Harry's face and thinking he was imagining Lily Potter telling her to turn away from the light.

Actually, his mother never entered his mind at the comment. "Tall? Red dress with a strap over one shoulder?"

"Yeah. And she was . . . wait. How could you possibly know that?"

Harry growled low in his throat, completely missing that he'd given something away. _That miserable who . . . arpy. She was going to cut Hermione's thread!_ Harry seethed.

Hermione, for her part, had no idea what was going on but was going to get some answers even if it killed her (which she didn't even realize it already very nearly had). "Help me up, Harry," Hermione asked, and he was more than willing to assist her to her feet and then to one of the cozy armchairs the Room had provided. He took the other and tapped his foot nervously waiting on what would come next.

After a few moments to get her bearings back she re-introduced herself to the conversation. She decided to wait on answers to how Harry knew about the woman in red she'd seen until she got one for her original question. "So; how far?"

Harry's foot was now a blur as he pondered his answer. The Moirae – _more specifically Attie_ he thought angrily - had said that no one could know; he had taken that to mean that he couldn't tell anyone. But he _wasn't_ telling her; she already knew. A subtle but important difference in his book. And besides, he A) had a certain flair for rule-breaking; and B) was looking to stick it to Attie for what she'd almost done to Hermione. Add in C) he hated lying to or keeping things from Hermione, and his decision was made. "I'm not sure of the date," he finally admitted, and he really wasn't. They hadn't even known it was Christmas the night they'd gone to Godric's Hollow. They'd been on the run for so long, and even when they were at Shell Cottage he hadn't bothered to look at a calendar.

 _I really wish I had someone to help me explain this_ he thought repeatedly as he tried to formulate his response, unknowingly providing the 'mojo' needed to initiate Thandie's plan.

The Room of Requirement is a wonderous construct. Crafted from magic by mortals but imbued with a limited sort of awareness by the being Thandie called Katie, the Room listens for the needs of those near to it and tries to fill those needs as best as it can.

And so the Room heard.

And so the Room answered.

Okay, so it wasn't the Room that answered; it _is_ just a room, after all. But it _was_ the Room, with a helpful boost from its patroness, that facilitated.

"It was the Second of May, 1998," came a voice from the opposite side of the chairs to the fireplace, and both teens jumped in their seats. Turning, they beheld a large free-standing mirror, gilded in gold and _very_ familiar to Harry. But what was more mind-boggling to Harry than seeing the Mirror of Erised was seeing who was seated in a very comfortable looking chair within the mirror. A stunningly beautiful woman with big brown eyes and curly brunette tresses looked at him with a smile that would have been the envy of the Cheshire Cat. Her tight denim jeans and tighter t-shirt that this time boldly proclaimed 'If you're reading this you're staring at my tits. You're welcome,' lessened the impact her arrival might otherwise have engendered. "Hey there, Champ. Remind me to thank Tunie; that wording was just perfect. Made things so much easier."

"Thandie? How the he . . . ham sandwich are you here?"

Thandie chuckled. "Ham sandwich? That's adorable, Harry. You really have got it bad, don't you?"

Harry decided to ignore that comment in deference to answering the question of the woman he did indeed (but would never admit to anyone but the woman herself. Eventually) have it bad for. "Second of May, 1998," he parroted to Hermione.

Despite the shocks of the last few moments, Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yes, Harry, I have ears," she said in an exasperated tone. "What in the world is going on? How did this mirror get here, and who is that?"

"Oh, right," Harry said as he ran a hand through his hair. "Uhh . . . Hermione, Thandie. Thandie, Hermione."

"Oh for the love of Pete," the teenaged witch huffed. "Harry, I heard you call her Thandie and she responded to you so _obviously_ that's her name. But the name does not help one bit to properly answer the question," Hermione responded hotly while crossing her arms and giving him the Type 7 'you'd better do better than that' look. "Lest we neglect the fact that I saw her," Hermione pointed at Thandie, "arguing with the woman in red."

"Uhh . . ." Harry stuttered.

"You saw that?" Thandie asked, her eyes widening slightly. "Huh. Must have something to do with the artifacts and either emotional or physical proximity to Champ here."

"Artifacts? Champ?" Hermione fixed her focus on Harry and he instantly started to sweat.

"Uhh . . ."

"I'm waiting . . ."

"Uhh . . ."

"Let me help, dear," Thandie interjected finally, deciding that no matter how amusing it was to watch him squirm Harry's brain was about to leak out of his ears from all that was going on, and he _did_ have a job to do. Thandie crossed her long legs and dangled a 4-inch heel off the toes of her left foot. "The device you see," she said, waving a hand Vanna White style toward the edges of the mirror, "is the Mirror of Erised, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. I'm sure Champ here has told you the story from when he was 11 about what it does; it shows us our deepest desires. In the case of Harry, here, that would appear to be me." Thandie licked her lips seductively and waggled her eyebrows at the boy, who tried very hard to sink into the cushions of the chair and disappear. "As for who I am, well, I'm the reason Champ here isn't in Elysium beating back nymphs with a stick." She made a cat claw motion and a 'mreow' sound that did nothing to help Harry's position or Hermione's growing ire.

"Thandie . . ." Harry growled, finally finding the power of speech again.

"Harry . . ." Hermione growled louder, once again yanking it from him.

"Janet! Dr. Scott!" Thandie yelled theatrically. Both teens turned back toward the mirror with confused looks, causing the goddess to sigh. "Seriously? Nothing? Oh well," she continued.

"Elysium?" Hermione asked, finally catching on to what Thandie had said. "So you're, what, an angel?"

Thandie couldn't help but laugh. "Other direction, sweetie," she replied.

Hermione looked over at Harry, the disbelief clearly evident in her eyes. Finally she sat back. "I must be hallucinating. I obviously passed out when whatever took my legs out from under me happened. This is just a phantasm created by my unconscious mind."

"So, just so I've got things straight, you're perfectly willing to believe that your new boyfriend has traveled back in time, but it's inconceivable that there may have been some unknown entity or power that _sent_ him back?"

Hermione's scoffed. "I know that time travel is possible without any type of supernatural influence; I've experienced it firsthand. And while I believe in God I've never seen any evidence that He involves Himself in our everyday lives."

"Alright, then," Thandie said as she steepled her fingers in front of her. "We find ourselves at an impasse. Anything Champ or I say you're not going to believe because you think you're dreaming. So how do we get you to understand that we're telling you the truth?"

Hermione shrugged. "Pretty much anything you say, do, or show me I'm not going to believe, because my unconscious mind can create pretty much anything. I'm just going to have to wait for me to wake up and get the truth out of Harry."

 _Truth_ Harry thought to himself, and knew what needed to be done. He stood and drew his wand, knowing there was one thing she'd believe. As the women both looked at him he drew the stick of holly and phoenix feather across his palm. " _Sanguis meus testis est,_ " he incanted, looking straight at Hermione as he put his bloodied hand to his heart. His voice was soft as he stared into Hermione's eyes. "My name is Harry James Potter. I was born on the 31st of July, 1980." He gulped. "I was murdered by Tom Riddle, the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort, during a battle at Hogwarts Castle on the 2nd of May, 1998, when I learned that the only way he could be defeated was to let him kill me.

"Upon my death I met Death, the woman you see in the mirror. She provided me an opportunity to return in order to prevent the war that had led to the deaths of I'm not sure how many. Dobby. Hedwig. Cedric Diggory. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. Alastor Moody. Nymphadora Tonks. Severus Snape. Albus Dumbledore. Remus Lupin. Fred Weasley." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Sirius Black. I came back to stop a war that we both fought in. One that almost got you killed during a battle at the Ministry. That _did_ have you tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor while the ferret and his family watched. That had you starving and cold and desperate while on the run with me. Had you . . ." his tears started, ". . . had you _Obliviate_ your own parents and compel them to move to Australia so that they could not be used against you. You did and went through all of that because of me. _For_ me."

Harry took a step closer to Hermione. "Well now it's my turn. I came back because of you, Hermione. _For_ you. Because I couldn't allow all of the pain and sacrifice that you had suffered and gone through because of me to be for nothing. I'll carry the pain of that future every day for the rest of my existence, but if that means that you don't have to then I'll pay that price gladly. _Magicae est judex meus,_ " he finished with a whisper, and was about to pull his hand away to show her the cut had healed when she jumped up and put both of her hands on his. She brought his bloodied hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it before she spoke.

"You crazy, noble fool."

"Wait, so now you believe just like that?" Thandie said in disbelief.

Hermione nodded slightly, not taking her eyes away from Harry. "I said that my unconscious could create almost anything."

Harry finished for her. "But there is not a corner of her mind that could ever have me intentionally hurting myself, even to prove her wrong."

 _He really does know me better than anyone_ she thought. "I've seen you hurt too many times to ever wish to see it again." She smiled brightly. "So, May of 1998?" Harry nodded. "So you're really 17? At least, mentally?" Another nod. "Good," she murmured. "This would be awkward if you were like 35," she said before pulling him down and locking her lips to his.

After a few seconds he pulled away. "Wait, so what was it before when I might have been 35?"

"Naughty?" she asked innocently, and with both smiling they kissed again.

Thandie gave them a moment before clearing her throat. "Sorry kids, while that does look like fun I'm not exactly sure how much time I have, and I do have a few things that need saying."

Harry twirled toward his Benefactor. "Like explaining how that miserable shrew was going to cut Hermione's thread?" he asked angrily.

Hermione's mind was whirring even faster than usual – a feat to be sure – as she processed what was being said. "The woman in red."

Harry turned back toward Hermione and nodded. "Atropos," he said simply.

"Or Attie, as she prefers," Thandie offered.

Hermione blinked rapidly at the woman in the mirror before turning to Harry. "Death not enough of a name drop for you, Harry? You had to include a Fate, too?" She shook her head. "What in the apparently-now-proven-to-exist multiverse did you get yourself into this time, Potter?"

"Oh, it gets way better," Thandie mused, and laughed at Harry's groan. "Take a seat and get comfortable, this could take a bit."

{-}

Hermione took the horror story of the future-that-was quite well in both Harry and Thandie's opinions. She'd only had to excuse herself to vomit three times; once when hearing about Harry's experience in the graveyard, once when hearing about her almost death at the Ministry, and once when Harry talked about walking out to the woods and taking one for the team from Riddle. Given everything else that had taken place that was a pretty good showing; Harry had lived it and still felt like throwing up a lot of the time when he thought about it too much.

Surprisingly (to her), Thandie got the tug that denoted her time was up after only a little over an hour. _Just my luck that fork-tongued devil gets tired on the day I really need him_ she thought. _Typical._ "Alright, kids, that's my cue to exit stage left. I'm sure I'll be in the shit for this, so I doubt I'll be able to be much more help."

"You've already helped a lot, Thandie," Hermione said. "Thank you for explaining, and thank you for sending Harry back to me."

The deity smiled. "Nothing to thank me for dear." And indeed there wasn't as far as Thandie was concerned; she'd sent her Champion back to fix the world, that it benefited him and Hermione was just a fringe benefit.

The young witch looked at her boyfriend. "Agree to disagree."

Thandie smiled. "And now I'll leave you two to . . . talk," she said with a waggle of her eyebrows before woman and mirror faded out of existence.

Hermione took the opportunity of them being alone to plop herself down on Harry's lap. However, unlike Thandie's not-at-all veiled innuendo, she did indeed want to talk. "Okay, I have a few follow-up questions that weren't really pertinent to the story."

"Alright," Harry responded guardedly.

"In the future, were we . . . an item? Is that why you asked me out; because I'd already told you how I felt so you knew I wouldn't knock you back?" Harry's expression paled. "I'm not accusing, Harry, and I'm certainly not complaining." To accentuate her point, she brought him in for a soft kiss.

Once he'd settled again Harry shook his head. "I honestly had no idea how you felt about me when I asked you out. There's another long story about the Horcrux and complementary colors in the Tapestry of Fate, but we'll just leave it at 'no, we weren't together' for now. You actually developed kind of a thing for Ron." _Well at least_ that's _not happening again_ Harry thought. Watching his two best friends do their best impressions of starving Dementors in the middle of a battle was not a memory he looked on fondly anymore, especially now that he knew just how good of a kisser his girlfriend was.

Hermione just nodded. "I suppose if it wasn't you and me it would have been me and him. I'm guessing that since we didn't get together he didn't get all uppity like he did?"

Harry almost told her about Krum and the Yule Ball but decided that he really didn't want to bring up the man she had kinda-sorta dated in the future-that-was. She and Harry were together now, and Krum could go f. . . . ornicate himself. "Something like that. It's Ron, so . . . well, you know."

Hermione nodded and then averted her eyes as she asked her next question. "What about you? What lucky witch swept you off your feet?"

Harry groaned. "I'm not sure 'swept off my feet' is the right term. Unless we're talking about taking the legs out from under me like a karate master. Fair warning; you might have been amazed by my planning our date, but it's only because I'm utter rubbish at this whole boyfriend thing, and you're too special for me to muck it up."

Hermione smiled. "That's sweet, Harry. And for the record, I think you're doing just fine at 'this whole boyfriend thing.' But now you've got me even more curious. So . . . spill."

"I'm not sure it's right for me to talk about relationships that now will never be." _If I don't want you thinking about Krum then I definitely don't want you comparing you or us to them._

"Please, Harry?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?" She raised an eyebrow. "Right, sorry. Forgot who I was talking to for a second." Harry sighed. "Fine. Fifth Year I was with Cho Chang for like 2 months. A few snogs, not a lot of conversation, or even time together really. We had one date, on Valentine's, and it was an utter disaster."

"Didn't plan?" The look Harry gave her made her laugh. "Right, sorry. Forgot who I was talking to for a second."

"Cheeky witch," he responded at having his own words thrown back at him.

"Hush, you." Harry just smiled. "So by qualifying it as 'an utter disaster' I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

"Well, considering she left me at Madam Puddifoot's after I said I had to meet you and Luna, I'll say that's a big yes."

"You left a date with your girlfriend on Valentine's Day to find me and Luna?" He nodded. "Wow, okay, maybe you are rubbish at this."

"Oi!"

"Were! Were! Sorry."

"It was your fault anyway. You had me doing an interview with Skeeter about what happened in the graveyard. You were pretty adamant, actually."

"Oh," was Hermione's only response, other than to blush.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?"

The side of her lips ticked up like she was holding in a wince. "Did I . . . did I know you were on a date with Cho?"

"Hermione, it was Valentine's Day. Of course you knew. You said 'Well, bring her along if you must.'"

"Oh," she said again.

Harry contemplated her behavior for a moment before his eyes suddenly went wide. "You set me up!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

"No! No, I'd never do that Harry. Well, not consciously. Probably." She bit her lip.

"My little homewrecker," he same amusedly as he pulled her into a hug.

"Oh stop," she said as she buried her bright red face in his chest. After a bit she sat back up. "So that's it? Just Cho?"

"Ginny and I got together for about a month and a half at the end of Sixth Year."

Hermione chuckled. "So she finally worked up the nerve, huh?"

"Jumped on me and kissed me after they won the Quidditch Cup."

"Well, don't go expecting that to happen again, mister."

"You mean you won't jump on me and kiss me if I win the Quidditch Cup?"

Hermione sighed. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?" Harry just smiled and nodded. "So how did you screw that one up?"

"Hey!" he squawked. He knew she was trying to be playful, but the memory sobered Harry. "I broke up with her at Dumbledore's funeral."

"Oh."

"You're saying that a lot."

"Well, what do you expect me to say?" she said in a huff. "You've thrown a lot at me today, Harry, and that was after I had to watch you walk into a dragon pen."

"I didn't get within 20 meters of it!" he responded indignantly.

"Well how close does the person you love have to get to a dragon before you're supposed to worry?!" she retorted, and Harry's eyes went wide as her hands covered her mouth.

Before Hermione could jump off his lap and away he grabbed her tightly and held her close to him, really unsure of how else to respond to what Hermione had said. "That was . . . unexpected," he said finally.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Did you not mean it?"

"Of course I . . . ugh . . . walked right into that one, too, didn't I?" she responded, her face the brightest red he'd ever seen it.

"You're really off your game today Granger," Harry said, trying to defuse the tension that had suddenly built between them. He lifted her face up so that they were looking at each other. "Why shouldn't you have said it, though?"

"Harry, we've only been dating for 3 days. That's way too soon to use . . . the 'L' word."

"You feel how you feel, there's nothing for it. But we can table the 'L' word discussion for now if you'd prefer." Her rapid nodding made him smile. "As to only dating for 3 days, I like to look at it as we've been playing cat and mouse all these years, and I've finally got you by the tail."

Hermione's eyebrows went up and a mischievous grin crossed her features. "So if you've got me by the tail, does that mean you're kissing my bum?"

"Only if you ask nicely, Mistress," he said, and the two of them discovered that kissing while laughing was not as easy as one would think. It didn't stop them from trying, though.

* * *

A/N: The 'pull a Heracles' is merely a reference to the 12 Labors from the standpoint of level of effort. I know that the story of the 12 Labors has nothing to do with ascending to god status so that you can bitch slap Fate for killing your girlfriend.

'Tunie' = 'Fortuna' = 'Tyche'

I've never seen a t-shirt like Thandie's, but I kind of want to open an Etsy shop now.

"Janet! Dr. Scott!" is a reference to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. See if you can find the scene on YouTube.

As always, thank you for your follows, favorites, views, and reviews.


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